Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I needed the shelter of someone's arms
And there you were
I needed someone to understand my ups and downs
And there you were

With sweet love and devotion
Deeply touching my emotion
I want to stop and thank you, baby
I wanna stop and thank you baby, yes I do

[...]

I close my eyes at night
Wondering where would I be without you in my life
Everything I did was just a bore
Everywhere I went it seems I'd been there before

But you brighten up for me all of my days
With a love so sweet in so many ways

[...]

You were better to me than I was to myself
For me, there's you and there ain't nobody else
I wanna stop and thank you, baby
I just wanna stop and thank you baby, oh now

How sweet it is to be loved by you
How sweet it is to be loved by you
How sweet it is to be loved by you
It's like jelly, baby, oh now

How sweet it is to be loved by you, oh now
How sweet it is to be loved by you
Just like honey to the bee baby, yeah now
Na, na, na, to be loved by you

-

“How sweet it is” by James Taylor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time, Doctor Ivo Robotnik and insomnia had gone hand in hand; the doctor had viewed sleep as an unnecessary shackle his regrettably human body imposed on him. If he slept more than three hours a piece, it was both a miracle and a disappointment to him. Precious time wasted, when he could have finished projects and made important breakthroughs.

A first shift into something like a somewhat healthy sleep schedule had happened around the time Robotnik had generously decided to keep Stone around, approximately a decade ago. With an assistant he actually wanted around in his back, the genius had suddenly had to deal with the fact that said assistant required stupid little things like rest. Not that Stone ever voiced as such, or complained about the regular overtime he was required to log in, but nothing got past Robotnik's analytical observations; he did not miss the fact that the sycophant started lagging behind his usual speed and reliability around the sixteen hours mark, began to make mistakes due to clumsiness - something which Robotnik absolutely could not tolerate, of course, but yelling would not help with the source of the mistakes, he quickly realized.

So he actually began to send Stone to rest until he was back to form... and then realized with a start that without his ever loyal shadow and the regular latte deliveries, his own productiveness dropped dramatically. He had taken note of it and found that it dropped a staggering seventy-four point three percent - a formerly unthinkable reduction in output and quality of said output.

It took him weeks of raging and testing and, finally, working through his own disbelief, to puzzle out that said drop was caused by the lack of Stone at his back while he worked. Once he had managed to admit that – to himself, never to someone else – he had grudgingly begun planning his own mandatory required resting phases around those of his sycophant; cutting his formerly eighteen to twenty working hours down to by a few hours, and actually attempting to leave the lab sometimes when night fell.

Much to his chagrin, productivity had skyrocketed afterwards. That had caused another few weeks of throwing tantrums.

The second dramatic shift in the doctor’s unhealthy habits had happened after his second crushing defeat by the hand of that alien hedgehog; the subsequent fall from his own robot coupled with broken bones and an already weakened immune system thanks to an interplanetary abroad stay for the past eight months had caused his health to take a turn for the worse, and had left him all but bedridden for a short while. That, and Stone’s very convincing arguments that a vacation would be beneficial to both of them, had caused Robotnik to finally give him and allow his ever-racing mind and his protesting body to finally rest. To believe that he was... allowed to, now, with no deadlines and no clear projects looming in front of him. For possibly the first time in decades, the only schedule he had had to stick to was his own, and the only things on the task list were get better, sleep and eat as much as he could, and learn how to deal with seeing Stone in casual outfits and with a smile so bright it outshone the sun.

He managed all of those tasks with flying colors, if he might add.

And now, after months of vacation and a slow lifestyle, where does that leave us? Well, somewhere around here:

Shortly after lunchtime, Robotnik rolls more than stands from their shared bed with eyes still half-closed, running a hand through his hair haphazardly to tame it in a way that it does no longer infringe on his field of vision, and stumbles across the expanse of the Crab Mecha towards the kitchen counter; his only point of orientation the mouth-watering smell wafting over from there.

He finds the counter with his hands first, grunts happily, and then blinks into awareness somewhat more to locate a chair; finding one in arm’s length, he drags it over with his foot and drops into it heavily, crossing his arms on the counter and letting his face fall into the crook of them to hide a jaw-splitting yawn.

Somewhere above him, he hears Stone chuckle, the sound thankfully kept at a low volume. The sound of it drifts closer as his sycophant wanders over from the stove until he is right next to the sleepy man when he speaks, “Good morning, doctor.”

“Mh,” Robotnik grunts, mustering up the energy to lift one hand and flap it in a sort-of greeting. In stark contrast to his ever-chipper sycophant, he is not a morning person; used to be able to deal with early mornings once in order to focus on work, but now when he no longer needs to? He can be grumpy all he wants, especially when he had only gone to bed at three in the morning.

Which Stone had done, too, but he probably would not know how to be grumpy when his life depended on it, Robotnik thinks with a strange twist of fondness when he hears the other laugh quietly. There is a rustle of clothes, the clinking of metal and ceramic, and the tasty smells that had lured the genius in the first place intensify further. “Latte first, or food?”

Does he even have to ask? “Both.”

The answer must have been anticipated, since only a second later, something is set down on the counter in front of him and pushed closer until it nudges his arms, waking him up a bit.

Lifting his head enough so he can see, Robotnik blinks blearily at the overflowing plate in front of him; a small tower of perfectly golden pancakes dripping with melting butter, stripes of bacon so crispy he can already hear them crunch under every bite, and an assortment of berries added next to it as a splash of healthy color.

His empty stomach gives a hopeful grumble, and he feels much less grumpy when he reaches for those treasures with both hands, drawing the plate close to take a deep breath over it and soak up the scent of it. Ah yes. Also something he had never imagined for himself, once upon a time; his breakfast had once consisted of the good ol’ nothing, or hastily devoured energy bars in between work. Never had he imagined this, and that on a daily basis. Would probably have laughed at his future self, if he had known that he one day would come to expect all this.

And hadn’t that been reason why he had taken a trip down memory lane in the first place, earlier? He had pondered how he had gotten to this point - stumbled into a life where he had no pressing schedules, no deadlines, could oversleep until lunch and then have a hearty breakfast served to him.

And on top of it all, he actually likes it.

Or, well. He at least likes the reason for all this change.

The clink of ceramic tugs him from his blurry realization, and when Robotnik blinks at it, then beyond it, he comes face to face with Stone for the first time that morning, who is smiling softly at him – the very same reason in question, beaming at him as if a bleary-eyed, grumpy old genius is the best thing he has seen ever, period. "Still asleep, doctor?"

"Mh," he grumbles, sinking further into his palm while he grasps blindly for the served cup with the other hand. "Need caffeine to wake up."

Chuckling now, Stone pushes the cup so it lands neatly in the clumsy grasp before getting back up and back around the counter towards the still running stove. Over his shoulder, he asks with true curiosity, "Did you at least sleep well?"

That's just the thing, isn't it? He did, and that is something that still gives Robotnik pause every now and then. Sleep had been such a traitorous and fleeting acquaintance in his life for so long, he still sometimes wakes up and is surprised that he had fallen asleep in the first place. But apparently, what he had needed to fix his sleep schedule in the first place was a release from his hellish work days (who would have figured) and the addition of one trusty barnacle and his steady, warm presence in his bed.

Blinking slowly with the realization, Robotnik takes up his cup while he looks the source of his good sleep right in the eye and mutters, "Like the dead, obviously."

Stone's smile turns fairly luminous, his eyes crinkling while he hums in satisfaction. "I'm glad."

"Mhm." Taking a sip from his latte - ah, that is exactly what he needs - Robotnik hums. Looks between the delectable smelling breakfast and the back of his sycophant, and makes a quick decision which one is more essential to him. He pushes the plate a bit away and calls out quietly. "Stone."

The reaction is immediate, as always; Stone stops whatever he is doing over by the stove, turning around without a hint of hesitance. "Yes?”

Crooking one finger invitingly, the most he can manage at the moment, Robotnik waves him closer. "Wake me up."

There is no pause, no break; Stone does not point out that something is still sizzling in the pan, or remind him that breakfast will get cold. He turns off the stove immediately and comes back around the counter, stopping in easy reach while he waits to see what is required of him exactly.

Always leaving him to decide on the first steps, Robotnik thinks with a huff, warmth spreading through him as if he had taken another sip of coffee. Shaking his head with a crooked grin, he reaches up, grabs onto Stone’s collar with unerring precious, and drags the other down to his level to bring their lips together in a sloppy kiss, made sloppier even when Stone gives a surprised, pleased little laugh -

Always a bit surprised around the edges, and immensely pleased, when they do this, the strange man.

Instantly more alert the second they touch, Robotnik hums a thoughtful sound, shelving that realization for later to pick apart – months, now, literal months, and Stone still reacts as if every kiss and touch is the first, veritably lights up in obvious pleasure with each. Will that stop at some point, after another few months? Years?

The doctor certainly hopes not, and while greedily taking more from that smiling mouth under his, he vows to be as unpredictable as he can in order to keep that sweet surprise for as long as humanly possible. If he is surprised by late mornings and breakfast and beaming smiles, it is only fair that he gets to take his sycophant unawares too, sometimes.

They part sooner than Robotnik would have liked, Stone pulling back slightly but not going far to point out a tad breathlessly, “Doctor, your breakfast.”

“Meh,” the genius utters, swaying forward to shut the other up with a biting peck once more.

It nearly lands off to the side instead of square on Stone’s mouth when the younger laughs quietly. “You hate cold breakfast.”

… Well, true. Especially cold bacon is disgusting, Robotnik admits grudgingly. And, in the name of fairness, kissing Stone he can do whenever he wants. Fiiine, he sees the logic in the argument.

Relenting with a growl, he lets go of the other and leans back onto his palm, angling for his plate with his free hand. “Hate when you make sense so early on.”

Stone has the good grace not to point out that early has passed a few hours ago, and instead simply chuckles while leaning in, pressing their shoulders together lightly before he straightens again. “Sorry about that.”

“Mh, no, you’re not,” Robotnik announces without a hitch while he spears up a piece of bacon and shoves it in his mouth. Immediately mollified by the crispy goodness, he amends through is mouthful, “But I will forgive you this once, in exchange for the bacon.”

“What do I get in exchange for the pancakes?”

“A pass on your general cheekiness, duh.”

Stone’s laughter rings through the kitchen clear as a bell, and Robotnik stuffs another bacon strip into his mouth to smother his answering grin.

Forget about his past self raging at him for his leisurely lifestyle; he couldn’t care less, if this is what he gets every morning for being a bit lazy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of breakfast is spent much in the same vein, with Robotnik eating his fill in relish while trading barbs and jabs with Stone, who is cleaning up the kitchen and refilling his latte with a constant smile lurking in the corner of his mouth.

But at some point, even the overflowing plate in front of the doctor is empty, and he leans back with a hand on his belly, rubbing it lightly to help along with the full feeling.

Stone reaches over for the plate immediately, asking as he turns, “Will you start stream after this?”

“Guess so,” Robotnik answers with a shrug; his shows are currently stuck on reruns of the most romantic moments for some unfathomable reason, and while he does not mind watch Gabriela choose her favorite out of the twin brothers once or twice, it does get a bit old after five times in the same number of days. Pushing to his feet, he decides, “Might tinker with the VR glasses a bit more, see if I can program in more locations.”

“Sounds nice. What locations were you thinking off?” In the middle of taking off his apron, Stone stops with a curious tilt of his head, eyes lighting up in interest.

It is only thanks to his outgrowing hair and moustache that Robotnik manages to hide his grin right then; he has been tinkering with a bit of a French vibe on the new location, choosing a familiar backdrop of a little street café Stone had favored back in Paris, but since it is not finished yet, he will rather bite his tongue off before telling the other about it. Surprises are way more fun when they are revealed with a big bang. “Eh. I was thinking of something boring, just to test the settings a bit more.”

The way Stone raises an eyebrow and twists his lips looks almost offended. “None of your work could ever be boring, doctor.”

“Oooh, keep flattering me, it might actually get you somewhere,” the genius teases with an eyeroll before laughing aloud at Stone’s flat stare. “Relax, Stone, your admiration is appreciated.”

“Thank you.”

So high-strung sometimes, the doctor chuckles to himself while meandering over to his workstation.

And yet another secret out of the life of a genius - the best part of living the cozy life in a Crab Mecha? The breakfast table and his streaming computer are literally five feet apart.

Falling into his chair heavily, he kicks it into a half spin while calling for Stone, “Will you pop into stream again for a sighting?”

A chuckle drifts back to him seconds before Stone all but materializes quietly at his side, handing him his next latte. “If you keep calling it that, I will sound like a wild animal.”

“You are,” Robotnik admonishes him with a wolfish grin. “My very own cryptid, moving about in his natural habitat. Also, question stands.”

“Maybe later? I was going to go for a grocery run.”

“Mhm,” drawing up a certain set of readings, Robotnik hovers his hand over it while glancing up at Stone expectantly. “Estimated time frame?”

“An hour?” Stone waits until he has nodded jerkily and typed in the time before adding, “Anything you want especially?”

“How would I know what we need? You got this, sycophant.”

Nothing about his wording should have sounded particularly genuine, but Stone’s smile is so bright as if he has handed him the highest praise even if he only sees it in periphery. “I will be off then.”

Barely acknowledging that while he is already deeply invested in starting up everything he needs, Robotnik mumbles something vague and flaps a hand to see the other off.

Around the doctor, his holo screens awaken from sleep, flicking through different settings until they settle on what he needs from them. His gloves hands move in tune to a music only he can hear, directing the technology in a way that pleases him most, until it is all set up in a half circle around him, ready to go. Last but not least, he calls the Mini-Nik over with a snap of his fingers and lets it start recording as soon as he is in perfect view, and he settles back with his hands on the armrest while the stream starts up.

Once he is in view and the connection is up, Robotnik grins at the camera, giving his rapidly rising viewer count a mocking salute with two fingers. “Rise and shine, my little Egg Heads, for your maestro has returned!”

Hey doc

Doc its afternoon e no rising and shining anymore

Yay doc streaming

What’s on the todo list today? Last stream was awesome

“Not bad for the start, but a little more enthusiasm and gratefulness next time,” a snap, and one of his screens move behind him, connecting seamlessly with the VR glasses laying off to the side. “For today, you can watch and wonder while I play around with virtual reality. Input on the chosen location is not welcome, praise of any and all kind very much is. To begin with-…”

Robotnik easily finds his flow as he begins working while explaining at the same time, only occasionally stopping to shoot a scathing comment or a mockery at one of the commenters in Chat. Speaking about his projects has always been a fun past time for him, he just often did not have the right audience for it – meaning, either an audience who understood and appreciated what he was doing, or one who couldn’t truly interrupt him. Behind a screen and with the ability to block whoever is getting on his nerves while being seen by thousands and admired for his tech by at least half of them… it proved to be an ideal setting for him in many ways.

The stream passes with a hitch for a while, dragging him into a sort of lull as his hands worked blindly on one thing while he narrated it all with his gaze on the screens. It is quickly shaping up to be his usual day with several hours of uninterrupted, focused streaming before he would call it a day for dinner and sleep.

Or it very well could have been, if Robotnik did not stop after a while, checking the watch’s readings – Stone would be back soon, he notes with a satisfied nod, in time for the next latte – and while turning back around, his gaze catches on a question in the stream’s chat that has been repeated several times over; likely in the hopes that he would see it.

Frowning, he leans in to check the question – he does not like repeated posting, and when it is something inane, he will not hesitate to timeout whoever thought this kind of behavior is tolerated around here.

The sheer simplicity of the question makes him pause and tilt his head slightly.

Doc what's planned for Friday?

“Friday?” Did he forget a future project that he had mentioned in an earlier stream? It would not have been the first time; sometimes his brain works too fast and is already focus on something new before he can bring an earlier idea to life. Shrugging to himself, Robotnik reaches out to open the screen which depicts the streaming schedule Stone maintains for him, barely needing to spare it more than a glance – no, the Friday is left empty, meaning he has the day to with what he wants. The thought that Stone might have forgotten something as well never even crosses his mind, so he answers with utter confidence, “Nothing special planned yet. Might adjust it as something comes up.”

Strangely enough, that garners more of a reaction than he had expected. Where Chat had been relatively quiet up until now, it suddenly gains traction, question and exclamation marks racing across the screen.

What?

Don’t disappoint us now doc!

You’re kidding right?

Cutting it really close here

Is it a surprise for us?

Are you scheming something doc

Already half-turned away, Robotnik stops with a frown, then huffs a sigh through his nose. Riiight, Chat is becoming weird again; nothing new there. He will not get any further in his work if he does not get to the bottom of this fast – and either puts them in their place verbally, or with blocking. With an eye roll to show what he things of their childishness, Robotnik levels a dark look at the camera above his screen. “The only scheming I do is for my world domination plans. If Friday does not have something to do with it, then no, I do not have any surprises planned for you, you nitwits. Why would I, pray tell?”

Guys I don't think he knows

No way 

Doc do you even know which month it is lol 

He can't have missed the ads 

"I don't miss anything," Robotnik snaps, the light annoyance ballooning rapidly; he is not about to let anyone doubt his ability to remember anything, not even dates or time (which he does not really pay attention to, usually). "If whatever it is was important, I would have taken note of it." 

Oh hell he really doesn’t know

I feel sorry for St0ne again...

RIP St0ne 

You really should treat him to smth

Now that does truly get Robotnik’s attention. Mostly because he always perks up like a guard dog ready to bite and kill whenever Chat mentions his sycophant, knowing that they can cross half a dozen lines in under a minute in their admiration for the other man; but also, because he does not see the connection between Stone and an ordinary Friday. His work is entirely forgotten while he watches the stream comments rush by, his full attention on it, attempting to find the explanation – but there is nothing really that makes sense, only over and over again the same exclamations of disbelief and thinly veiled accusations.

Pushing his work to the side with a swipe of a long arm, he rolls closer to the console and snaps at the screen, "Are any of you going to start talking like a human being with working brain cells, or do I have to end stream early again?" 

There is a brief moment of the comments slowing down a bit, before they pick up even faster; they must have noticed his very real annoyance now.

Doc we are not makin fun

Valentine's 

Valentine's Day on friday 

You forgot Valentine's Day 

That’s… it. That’s all there is? Blinking slowly, Robotnik lets that sink in before chancing another glance at the calendar. There really is a note reading "Valentine's Day" in the bottom right corner of Friday; something he could not have cared for less, so he had skipped it earlier. Now that he thinks about it, there have been some reruns of Ultimate Passion' episodes in the last day which all centered around especially romantic events, weddings, love confessions, the whole shebang. And in between the episodes, he had gotten glimpses of advertisement for chocolates and flowers. All of it things which he had only picked up by osmosis, simply thanks to his every hungry mind working with any and all kind of data it could find, but he hadn’t paid it attention. Because...

"Why would I care about that?" Rolling his eyes in the general direction of the camera, he flaps his hand, waving the mere idea off. “A day blown out of proportions by chocolatiers and flower shops, all in the hope of making some quick money; there is nothing about this that has anything to do with me, or my streaming. You seem to be forgetting that I am here for the science, and nothing else.”

Alright, and maybe because he enjoyed the attention. But that, as well, does have nothing to do with a day that… bleugh… celebrated useless feelings. His Egg Heads really should know better, he thinks with a huff, eyeing the stream’s chat with disdain.

Apparently, they do not. There is a brief moment where the exchange slows to a near-standstill, before his viewers nearly explode into a flurry of exclamations.

WHAT

Okay fine but you got smth for St0ne right

Doc you better not say that to your man’s face

omg I don’t believe it

I can live with not being your valentine but what about St0ne

Robotnik snorts despite himself, and gives a short cackle at their indignation. “The entirety of you seem to judge other’s by your own standards. The lot of you might be so hormone-driven that you fall for the allure of a Valentine, but Stone and I are both smart and experienced enough to see through this entire charade. If you think my henchman thinks any more of this holiday than I do, you are even more dense than usual today."

Uh-huh

There he goes

Oh man

Don't talk for both of you

"And that is quite enough of that," Robotnik snaps as the chat spirals out of control once more, blinking and flashing in its hurry. "If you cannot manage to focus your weak brainwaves onto actually important subjects, I will-..."

He does not even get as far as deciding what, exactly, he will do then; his brewing rant is interrupted before it can begin by a happy jingle sound and an explosion of virtual confetti all over the stream display

+5 - did you ask St0ne for his opinion?

Turning his verbal momentum into an annoyed pffffrt sound, Robotnik eyes the donation message with a look so baleful it should by all rights have melted the screen. "Why would I? I know his answer."

Another jungle; if they had at least sent some real money with it, he could have tolerated the sound, but with the tiny amounts that come with it, he only feels his eye twitch.

+2 - doc youre no mindreader. Talk to the man

"What we do or do not talk about is none of your damned business," he hisses.

+10 - we are trying to help you, don't you want him to be happy

"Why thanks... for nothing. Nobody here asked for unsolicited advice."

+2 - do you even care?

"For your opinion? Couldn't care less."

+5 - sometimes I wish St0ne would divorce you. He deserves better

Whatever thin, constantly frayed thread of patience Robotnik possesses, it tears apart with a nearly audible snap. Annoyance turns biting, turns white hot, and he surges out of his chair with so much speed that the piece of furniture goes flying backwards and crashes to the ground. He is roaring over the noise without even registering it, teeth barred in a snarl and spit flying as he thunders, "ENOUGH!"

A snap of his fingers, loud as a whip, and a screenshot is taken of both the donations and the chat - he will remember those usernames, and comeuppance will be laughing matter for them. At nearly the same time, he slashes his other hand through the air, and the stream gets shut down immediately.

The screens go dark around him. His reflection stares back at him from the inky surface of them, eyes wild and an angry flush over his usually pale cheeks.

He fights the urge to throw something at his rattled reflection, knowing quite well that it will only result in making him even angrier when the screen shatters. It has happened before, after all. And al it really results in is having to replace the screen which is costly and then to get Stone to clean it up because he himself would forget to do it and then walk straight into the shards and Stone would have to take care of the blood too-…

He deserves better

The rage pulses through him with the force of a blazing fire and he grabs his cup, gives a sharp whistle, and throws it behind himself with all the strength he has.

There is a whirr and one of the Badnik he had recently gotten back up and running dives of its shelf and catches the falling cup before it can crash to the ground.

… Hm. That took care of not leaving shards, but throwing things without hearing anything shatter does not have the same stress relief as its messier counterpart.

Growling under his breath, Robotnik waves the Badnik off when it wants to bring him the cup back like a dog playing fetch. As it floats away, he bends at the hip less gracefully than he would have liked, and rights his chair again, dropping into it heavily. Running his shaking hands through his hair, he stares at the ceiling, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. He has approximately ten minutes before Stone is back from grocery shopping, and he will not explain to his sycophant why he is as angry as an infuriated dragon; not this time, not over this.

The anger is slow to leave him, wants to claw out and break, destroy, annihilate. Since that is not an option, he instead directs his energy into mentally flaying apart this entire stupid conversation. Valentine’s Day. Really, of all the things – he had expected more of his viewers; probably should have known better. They have their good days, but in general, they are no different than the usual gaggle of imbeciles.

But still, to focus on this holiday of all things – when it is so obvious that Valentine‘s Day is an absolute farce. The event is supposedly held in memory of a saint, but there is nothing holy about it in any way. From what little he had gleaned over the years – against his will, mind you – the day was usually misused to make big yet empty gestures of adoration to garner affection from someone the person had already set their eye on before. Based on what he had observed back in the military, the so one affection often did not last any longer than a few days; once the rose colored glasses came off, everything was back to normal between the two “lovebirds” in question - or even worse than before.

All in all: an utter waste of time. Really, he is doing his Chat a favor by not indulging in this holiday. He is basically giving them a reality check which they desperately need, impressionable little imbeciles that they are.

But even as he calls all of this to mind, Robotnik finds himself tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair in a quick, thoughtful staccato. Countless studies in the course of his streaming have shown that whenever he had indulged the wishes of his stubborn Chat, the feedback had been glorious, donations nearly overflowing and viewership count steadily rising. There is merit in letting them think he listens to them from time to time. It is just that he has always to consider whether those pros outweigh the cons.

In this case, the cons being that he has to put up with supporting something he loudly and clearly had condemned.

Frowning deeply, he kicks his chair into a spin and lets his head drop back against the backrest while he ponders this.

Pro – garnering adoration from his followers and some extra cash.

Con – he would actually have to invest time and energy in this.

​Pro – he could later lord over it over them when they ever said he never did anything for them.

Con – he would have to swallow his pride, which is big enough to have a blue whale choke on it.

Pro – even if he participated, nobody could stop him from complaining about it the entire time.

Pro - he would prove once again that he can do anything, even things he is not too keen on.

...Ah, now there are two good points right after another. Maybe this idea does have some merit, Robotnik ponders, kicking his chair into yet another spin before it can slow down entirely. But if it does - if he is going to do this, then he will need more information on this... charade. He will need to be entirely secure in this foreign cultural event to really dazzle his viewers with it and thus show them what he is capable off.

He does not rally stop to consider why he wants to show how well he can do with this, stubbornly ignores the mocking voice that echoes can do better, can do better. Instead, he changes track and sifts through what little he knows about Valentine's Day. Held in the middle of February, most commonly celebrated with chocolate, flowers and cards, very pink and red heavy, absolutely horrid and garish and disgusting...

Aaand that's it. That's all he got.

His fingers twitch, wanting to grab something and theow it, but Robotnik barely controls the urge and takes a deep, measured breath. He will need more than that. He will need...

Behind him, there is the rumble of machinery, and the telltale thunk thunk of hydraulic working. The Crab's front gate hisses open, then closes again slowly. “I’m back,” Stone’s voice filters through the Crab, followed by quiet footsteps.

Robotnik hums a vague greeting, gaze still directed unseeingly at the ceiling. Some distant part of his brain catches the sound of the Mini-Nik and two of the Badniks beeping and humming quietly as they float over to greet his sycophant; the telltale chuckle of Stone greeting them with pats on their chassis; the rustle of grocery bags as Stone...

Wait.

Stone.

All of Robotnik's gears grind to a halt, then start spinning even faster in a breakthrough. He snaps upright in his chair and swivels around with it, calling out, "Stone!"

"Over here," Stone calls back from the direction of the kitchen. "Just let me put this away..."

No time, no time; not when he just had the perfect solution for his musings. Too impatient by far, Robotnik pushes to his feet and follows the sounds of his sycophant to the kitchen as if drawn by a magnet.

His approach is not immediately noticed; Stone is standing with his back to him, bent over to sort things into the open fridge, one brown paper bag clutched under his arm. The other bag, deposited on the counter, is currently being scanned by all three Badniks of varying size.

„Stone“ Robotnik repeats as he draws closer; he is sure it was meant to be impatient, but somewhere on the way from his quick brain to his mouth, it softens and ends more as a greeting than a snap.

The now empty bag crinkles as Stone balls it in his fist, mutters a pleased sound and straightens back up, turning around in the same moment. His smile turns luminous the moment he spots the other man, eyes creasing with it. "Doctor; hello."

There had been a multitude of things Robotnik had meant to say to his sycophant, all of them pointed towards the blasted, thrice damned holiday whose name he barely can stand on his tongue. But the moment that smile is directed his way, the doctor slows down, gentles, before he can stop himself. Darn it all; he still retains that this expression should be labeled a weapon.

Floundering a bit now that he has lost his steam, he stops sharply awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, blinking fast while he tries to regroup. When storming over, he had had a clear line of questions he had meant to follow; now, it all seems unfitting, so...what else to say? "How was your trip?" He settles on finally.

It seems to be the right thing to say, since Stone's smile only grows, and he chuckles. "Uneventful but productive; I found some more of those cheese crackers that you liked."

That makes the doctor perk up a bit from his dumbfounded stupor; he had never outright stated that he liked the treat, but Stone, of course, had noticed anyway. Smirking a little, he trails after his sycophant when he turns to unpack the second bag. "Productive indeed."

Stone hums agreeably while he digs into the rest of the groceries. "How was your stream? Already done?"

The question drags Robotnik out of the temporary lull he had fallen into, makes him blink sharply and rub his fingers together. Right, the stream. "Why ask? You will just watch the recording anyway."

"Yes, but I like hearing it from you,” Stone replies easily without turning around, expertly sidestepping the “helpful” Badniks while he sorts in the last of the groceries in their designated places.

It is a good thing that his sycophant is not looking, since Robotnik’s fidgeting has worsened even more by now. For one blissful moment, he had forgotten that Stone dutifully watches every stream he ever did, either live or in recordings. The moment his partner checks the stream, he will see the doctor’s outburst… and while that is not something he has not seen before, the reason for it is – not something they really need to talk about.

Or could, really. Robotnik is still not ready to acknowledge what exactly had made him explode so quickly.

Without taking his eyes off Stone’s back, he reaches to the side and grasps the wrist screen he is wearing and starts typing blindly. In seconds, he has opened up the recordings, and scrolled through the stream with hardly a glance until he finds the bit that he would rather not be seen.

The stream will have had a technical difficulty at around this time stamp, he decides, signing off the command with a flourish, watching it take effect and cut out the last few minutes of the recording.

There. Now the stream runs for nearly the full length and cuts of abruptly before any talk about thrice damned holidays can ever pop up. Too bad!

He pockets the wrist screen again. The whole thing had taken less than two minutes, but of course, his silence does not go unnoticed; Stone turns immediately, a furrow between his brow. "Doctor? Is something...?"

"Stone, what does one do on Valentine‘s Day?“

Ah, hell. He hadn’t meant to say it that way, Robotnik thinks with a surge of – well, a no-good feeling, that’s for sure. He had only meant to say it before Stone can catch on that he has been doing something behind his back but this way... this way, the question drops between them like a live bomb, followed by a near eerie quiet. The frown melts from Stone's face, but instead, the usually unflappable man gapes quiet obviously, jaw slack. Instead of jumping to answer as usual, he seems unable to form words, and the awkward silence stretches uncomfortably between them.

Okay, that could not have been so surprising that it even silences his ever-witty sycophant. What did he... Cursing his big mouth that is sometimes faster than his genius brain, Robotnik mentally rewinds what he had just said, attempting to view it as it must seem to Stone. Immediately, he understands, and pulls a face, miming a gagging sound, before hurrying to spit, „Not-...! No, delete that thought immediately, Stone. The question has nothing to do with you. It’s for the stream”.

It seems to shake Stone from his silence, and the man blinks slowly. "The... stream."

"Yes. Obviously, it's not…,” out of words for once, Robotnik gestures between the two of them pointedly while he shakes his head No. "The Egg Heads demand something special for the occasion.“

"... I see.” Even as he says it, Stone still seems to need to gather himself again; he seems to dissect that before answering slowly, “Yes, of... of course. That makes sense."

There is a quiet beep next to them as the Badniks drift closer, led by the Mini-Nik, which goes to scan Stone even as the former agent makes a quiet sound of protest and attempts to gently nudge it away.

Robotnik watches the exchange with a frown, feeling his fingers itch to go and drag up the readings of the scan. The Badniks are programmed to react to sudden spikes in the reading of Stone's watch - a fact that he never mentioned, but suspects his sycophant knows anyway. The idea that his stupid question had changed anything about the readings... had possibly upset the other...

It doesn't sit well with him.

He is about to call it an useless attempt and back out of the conversation, when Stone says “Stop it, baby, I’m fine” and finally manages to calm the Mini-Nik enough that he can push it a distance away before he turns back to the doctor again. “What did you have in mind?”

“I…” well. It looks like his sycophant is about to ignore the awkward moment, so he can do the same. Frowning, Robotnik considers the question, before making an error buzzer sound with his mouth and shrugging. “I don’t have anything yet. Manipulation, for sure, but how to go about it…”

“Need some ideas?” Stone offers.
“If you would.”

“Well…” shifting so he can lean more comfortably against the counter, Stone crosses arms, tilting his head in thought. “The easiest thing would probably be to eat themed sweets where the Chat can see. Maybe… dress up somewhat? Since they expect something special.”

“Seems fine so far” Robotnik mutters while he ponders the options. While he prefers the lazy (okay slovenly) getup he had been using for streaming since it does not need any effort from his side, he can dress up for one day. He still has his old outfits laying around, and whatever adjustments need to be made to them, Stone and the Badniks can handle in record time. And sweets are always good, so that one does not need any brainpower at all. Still. “Rather tame though.”

There is the tiniest pause before Stone points out, “Well, you still need to be comfortable with it.”

Oh, he should have seen that one coming. Biting back an amused sound, Robotnik rolls his eyes at his personal mother hen. “You are acting like I will start hissing and spitting if you so much as mention your idea. Which actually could happen, but I will try my best not to.”

Making a bit fun at his own expense is not the worst when it makes Stone bark out a surprised little laugh. “Appreciate it. Then, what about decorations?”

Immediately, Robotnik pulls a face as if he had just tasted a latte without goat milk. “Urgh.”

“See, there it is.”

“I can deal with it for one day, I guess.”

The amusement immediately vanishes from Stone’s face and he softens, shaking his head slightly. “You could always ignore them, doctor.”

“I know that, sycophant,” Robotnik reminds him, far less sharply than he would have, were it anyone else doubting him. “I’m still me. There is no way anyone could make me do something I see no advantage for myself in; but I am able to see the merits of pretending to bend to the whims of my “fanbase”. It will make them feel heard and appreciated, and more willing to part with their money or other forms of support.”

His sycophant is smart enough to see it as well, Robotnik knows he is; but Stone still looks not entirely convinced when he tilts his head in agreement. “Alright. If you are sure.”

Oh for the love of -… Robotnik throws his hands up in indignation. “It is just one day, Stone.”

“Doctor,” and there is that twitch again, the amusement glittering in Stone’s eyes bleeding into his entire expression no matter how professional he is attempting to be. “I have seen you throw a fit over Valentine’s decoration before.”

That… Well. True enough, he does remember a rant or two – or a thousand - about the blasted holiday while Stone was by his side, and maybe there was that one memorable occasion where he had gone and ripped off some of that godawful Valentine's decoration Walters had had the gall to permit around headquarters with his own bare hands, spitting insults all the while, before commanding his babies to burn the rest of it.

Fun times; even when it had afterwards led to a reprimand from every possible superior, twice from Walters, and he had had to leave his Badniks at the lab for the next month whenever he went to headquarters.

Maybe a fit is putting it nicely still.

Sniffing haughtily, Robotnik crosses his arms and shrugs. “This time, I’m doing the decorations, and with a clear goal in mind. Not the same as being assaulted by them unprompted.”

“Right. Huge difference.” Stone plays with his rolled-up sleeve, smile going lopsided while he thinks. "Then... hearts are the most common symbol for Valentine's. Flowers, mostly roses. Chocolate. Something like that."

Robotnik feels his eyebrow rise at the almost halting way it is listed up. "You don't sound entirely sure."

"It's what I can think of on the fly," Stone shrugs, raises his hands as if to say what can you do. "You could always research."

Strange thing to point out, when he is already in the middle of it. Raising an eyebrow, Robotnik points meaningful from himself, to Stone. "I am."

"I meant online,” Stone looks like he is amused despite trying to look stern over it as he shakes his head. “There are better sources than me, for sure."

While cross-referencing is a common thing in any experiment and research, something about the way the other puts emphasis on certain words pricks at Robotnik, making him pause and zero in on it. "What do you mean? I might not have seen you celebrate directly, but surely you have more experience in this than me. I'm...me."

To get his point across, he gestures at all of himself, meaning his not quite handsome appearance as much as his patiently difficult personality with it.

It is clear that Stone is not happy about the gesture, his jaw ticking minutely while he frowns, but he lets it lie – for now, Robotnik supposes, knowing that this gesture will be catalogued and remembered for sure. His sycophant is a bloodhound when it comes to tracking down and eradicating any doubt that Ivo Robotnik is perfect in any way.

A thing which absolutely does not help with Robotnik’s generally bloated ego, mind you, but he quite enjoys it, anyway.

For now, Stone focuses back on the question. "Not as much experience as you seem to think,” he says with a shrug. “I have never even had a Valentine before, so no need to put much work into it.”

Robotnik nods absentmindedly, accepting that with a hum. Well, then the suggestion makes sense-

Wait, scratch that.

“What?!”

He can see the amusement twitch around Stone’s lips once more when he nearly shouts the word through the Crab, making the Badniks beep and float away backwards from him. Robotnik ignores both reactions in favor of gesturing at Stone grandly, eyebrows nearly at his hairline, sputtering in indignation. “Excuse me? You?!”

That can’t be right, but he does not see why his sycophant, trustworthy and honest to a fault as he is, would lie about this, of all things.

“Me,” his sycophant agrees, the twitching deepens and manifests in a crooked, baffled smile. “That can’t be such a surprise.”

Is that a joke? To Robotnik, it is not a funny one. “Of course it is a surprise; I thought you the experienced one out of the two of us!”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but-…”

“Not – why would you be the disappointment?!” Throwing up his hands, Robotnik marches through the kitchen in a tight circle, ranting as he goes, "The brainless masses obviously flock to people they consider within the upper twenty percent of generally accepted attractiveness on this holiday. Based on that, you should have been swarmed by them. If they did not, then humanity is more of a lost cause than even I had anticipated! Note to self - find a way to upgrade the general IQ of the population after I take over the world."

The last part, he talks into the recording function of his control gloves, very much intending to make it a reality at some point.

Having watched his outburst with a cocked eyebrow, Stone seems to puzzle it through for a moment, before he seems to realize that somewhere in this mess, he has been paid a very complicated compliment. Blinking, he laughs quietly as he notices. "Oh, thank you, doctor."

"Eh. Stating the obvious, sycophant." Barely hearing it, Robotnik waves the thanks off while he keeps circling about the kitchen, thinking and muttering as he tears that new information apart. “There is no way that is the entire truth. Unless you – you received offers, but declined them? Why? While I do realize that you might not have seen the value in such an insipid celebration, you could have still used those people’s interest in you against them. At least then one of us would have an idea now, sycophant!”

Another turn, and he stops in front of Stone to address him directly with the last part, half-accusing, half-amused.

Taking that as the invitation to join the conversation again, Stone shrugs. “There wasn’t really a lot of opportunity for - insipid celebrations.” Here, he makes air quotes before continuing, “I was a field agent for years; there was little time-..."

Oh that is just - no. Just no. Robotnik snorts despite himself, rolling his eyes. They both know that someone with his sycophant's ability to micromanage could have found time, if only he wanted to. "Stone," he reprimands lightly, almost amused.

Pauding, Stone debates for a second, before he sighs with a crooked smile. "Fine. There were some people who asked me. I wasn't interested, so I declined."

"Not interested," Robotnik parrots, narrowing his eyes. "In the holiday?”

"The people who asked, mostly," the other man clarifies readily.

The explanation is innocent in itself, but something about it soothes Robotnik's annoyance, replaces it with satisfaction so deep and physical it is basically a purring beast curled up in his chest. The people who asked had bored Stone. Well, obviously they had; his sycophant is leagues above the common rabble, no wonder the people who had asked never caught his eye...

.. wait. Robotnik blinks, thinks that train of thought again. The people, Stone had said. The people, mostly. Not the gesture. Not the idea of being a “Valentine” (bleugh) for anyone, but the people.

… Oooh he does not like where this is going.

Dragging himself from his thoughts, Robotnik blinks sharply and zeroes in on the patiently waiting Stone. “Were you aware that this holiday is coming up?”

The question seems to take the man by surprise; he shifts, frowning, before chuckling. “Yes? The advertisements are everywhere, it’s hard to miss them.”

Not going to comment on that, the doctor thinks dryly, absolutely refusing to so much as twitch at the slight against his person, unintentional or not. There are more important things to ponder right now.

Like whether or not Chat had even right, and he had made a terrible oversight. It couldn't be that Stone had actually wanted to celebrate, right? No way.

But. He is sentimental like that, sometimes. A bit romantic, a bit whimsical, drawn to adorable things or shows of devotion and...

Oh dammit. No, definitely not liking where this is going.

"Doctor?"

"Hm?" Not startling, never startling, Robotnik snaps his unseeing gaze back towards Stone. “You said?”

“I asked if that are all questions for now.” Stone patiently repeats his words once more, long since used to the lapses when the doctor would get lost in his own mind. “Of course I would help you with researching this holiday if you want, but I was going to clean and then start with dinner-….”

“No, no, you do that.” Robotnik waves him off with one hand, mind only half on the conversation. “I will research. Should be more than enough time to come up with something satisfactory until Friday.”

"Have fun."

Already half-turned to go, Robotnik snorts and looks back with a smirk. "As if. I will be complaining every step of the way, you know that."

"Well," Stone does not look surprised in any way, eyes glittering with barely withheld laughter. "Then have fun with that."

Taken unawares and tickled by the fact that anyone would wish him fun in his usual ranting, the doctor has no way to stop the bark of laughter bursting out of him, loud and unfiltered amusement. He is still chuckling to himself, muttering about cracked barnacles, while he walks back to his workstation.

Once he sits down heavily, his good mood gets a dampener; smothered by the memory of what he will research now. Ugh. Is he really up for this humiliation? Ivo Robotnik, looking into Valentine's Day?

As if sensing his mood swing, the single Badnik which had trailed after him hovers closer, nudging against his shoulder.

Absentmindedly, Robotnik pats its dome, letting the whirr of machinery under his palm soothe him. Calmer, he can view it a bit more rationally; so yes, he is going to research something he had condemned all his life, but that does not change his stance on the subject. He is merely going to use the knowledge to his own benefit. Not an admittance of defeat, but a strategic play.

And anyway - nobody except the stream viewers who didn't believe when he talked about world domination and Stone would know, so the humiliation would be kept in a tiny vacuum between all of them.

One again reaffirmed in his plan, he gently shoves the Badnik back to have more space and draws up the screens he will need. Fingers fly over holo screens and gloves alike, searching the same subject in different flavors in several search machines simultaneously

Valentine's Day, What do on Valentine's Day, Common Themes, Valentine’s decoration-...

There. Satisfied with his choices for the first try, he enters in the commands, and watches as the search results come back, are filtered once more by his own software to ensure that the hits provide the most of what he needs, and are then displayed in an order that sorts the most promising ones at the top.

Thus prepared, Robotnik draws up the first screen - Valentine's Day - and begins reading.

The history of it – meh, uninteresting. He is not about to write a biography of any, or all, of the so-called saints which this day is attributed to. The reason why it became a holiday of looove (urgh) he skips over entirely, as well. Folk traditions, well now, that is much more interesting; he skims over it in the hopes of some sort of inspiration, but only scoffs at what he finds. Custom of sending cards, flowers, chocolates and other gifts - even he had known that much, thanks for nothing.

He reaches over to take some quick notes on a separate screen, anyway. It looks like this at least confirms some of Stone’s suggestions; not that he had doubted them, anyway.

Lazily, he lets his gaze trail over the other screens he has opened. The one with the suggestions on what to do with a romantic partner he closes pretty quickly; not what he is looking for. His fingers itch to do the same with the display of the absolutely garish decorations in front of him, but he grits his teeth against the urge and powers through to take a closer look for inspiration:

Roses, fine. He has become somewhat tolerant of the flowers since La Ultima Pasion uses them rather frequently and he cannot deny that they look – tolerable. There is potential in that, and he takes note of it.

The hearts… anatomically absolutely incorrect of course, Robotnik sneers quietly at the pictures he finds, but he can deal with them in smaller quantities. Maybe some kind of frame or background with both elements in his stream… that could work.

Red he can work with; that is basically his color, and it suits him quite well, if he does say so himself. The pink he can tolerate when it is not overbearing and fine, he will see to it that it is mostly in the earlier decided on heart and rose shapes to fit the occasion.

Another central figure of the entire festivities seems to be this “Cupid” creature, commonly shown as a winged toddler in diapers (he fails to see what this has to do with romance, but he fails to see a lot about this holiday). The strange little caricature is based on the Greek love god Eros – oh, no, the picture he is looking at currently is Anteros, Robotnik notes, quickly scanning over the information. God of requited love… well where’s the difference to the other winged guy then?! Blast those ancient people and their need to assign the miracles of the world to fantastic creatures, many of which existed in doubles and triples. Eh, seems like this is not important, anyway. And he is not going to dress up like a cupid as some websites suggest, nobody wants to see that, thank you so much!

Checking over his notes so far, Robotnik hums in satisfaction, sorting it a bit more to his liking before sitting back and viewing it with a pleased twist to his lips. Just a little bit of time and energy invested, and he is already pretty much ready to swipe his viewership of their feet. Never let it be said he doesn’t do things for them! He might need to check his wardrobe for something more appropriate to wear for the occasion, and he will leave Stone in charge of the obviously Valentine’s themed sweet, but otherwise, he is actually set.

But that is only project one - the research for streaming, done.

Now for research of a more personal nature.

Backing out of the internet and back into his own network, Robotnik pulls up two holo screens, one displaying the reading of Stone’s watch, the other the most recent scans of his Badniks. Pushing both screens to hover right next to each other, he scrolls back through both simultaneously while looking for a certain timestamp. Stream had ended, then approximately five minutes of seething, his sycophant had come back and they had talked for, what, one minute, two, and then…

There.

He stops the readings, and takes in the values. A brief spike in heartrate, body temperature, a minimal stalling of breath-… surprise, stress, excitement, or all of it put together.

Right after he had asked what was commonly done around Valentine’s day.

With a deep breath, Robotnik sits back once more, stippling his fingers while he compares the values once more. Nothing changes about them, confirming his thought, much to his chagrin. He barely bites back a groan and presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the pressure gathering there rapidly

Gods, but he hated when his Chat was right about things. It is simply offending, that a bunch of strangers with rosetinted glasses on anything, slang not of this world and the middling IQ levels of common monkeys managed to suss something out faster than him, only because feelings are still a big blind spot for him.

But data – data he could work with, and now that he had it right in front of his eyes, he couldn’t deny the obvious: Stone was excited about the thought of spending Valentine’s together, and Robotnik had entirely miscalculated.

Just what has the world come to.

But no sense dwelling on the past; it only wastes precious time and energy. Bouncing back quickly from this minor setback, Robotnik shakes his head and focuses instead of the much more important thing - What is he supposed to do with that information?

Of course he could outright ask Stone if he wanted to celebrate but that seems like a recipe for failure; either Stone would adamantly assure him it’s fine in order to accommodate the doctor’s dislike for festivities, or he would offer to prepare it all himself, which defeats the entire purpose of this… thing. This is supposed to be a show of – at least appreciation for a person, if not outright affection. He cannot ask Stone to do the preparations, that would like asking him to gift himself something. Utterly ridiculous. No, he will have to do this on his own, and possibly without letting his sycophant catch on.

But do what, exactly, he ponders while spinning in a circle with his chair, expertly maneuvering himself around with minimal effort. Is he supposed to do something grand? Flashy? Attention-grabbing, over the top, loud and noticeable? He could, easily, that is not the problem; put out all the stops and really get into all this. Steamrolling all expectations and going way beyond was kind of his entire thing, after all. He could do decorations, music, chocolate and flowers, the whole shebang. He can almost picture it – a bouquet of roses, music flowing from every speaker, colorful lighting to set the mood, a good bottle of wine or two, chocolates and a dance. Big, dramatic. Showy. Excessive. The presentation of one overbearing madman.

But the more Robotnik pictures it, the more he dislikes it. He doesn't even think Stone would like it. It seems too much; forced and not genuine. A nice visual, maybe, but not very much substance behind it. Unconsciously, he reaches for the empty cup still standing on the Control Panel to his side, playing with the rim of it; he thinks of painstakingly drawn latte art. Beautiful and done with... with care, but not flashy. Drawn in the hope that he would see it and appreciate it, but no special attention being drawn to it to make sure he will see it. Unobtrusive, but very much genuine.

Sometimes, the doctor ponders, sometimes small but sincere things seem to say more than monumentally big gestures.

Sincere; Robotnik scoffs, planting his chin in his hand. It seems to be the very antithesis of himself; his once public image had been built around wired barbs, steely defenses and a knife sharp tongue. Never at a loss when it came to an sharp insult or demeaning word, but unwilling to offer a single kind thing to anyone. Kindness could be interpreted as weakness; weakness only led to people trying to get in your good graces and attempting to use you. He had learned that early on, and protected himself accordingly.

And now... now, those decades upon decades of defenses seem impossible to tear down. He is trying, he truly is, for Stone; most of the time these days, he even thinks he does a somewhat good job at it. But this seems like… a challenge he, the great Doctor Ivo Robotnik, might not be ready to face yet.

… Dammit. The one time he could pay Stone back for all those years of services and care, and he is already mucking this up.

Chapter Text

Lost in increasingly dark thoughts, Robotnik unconsciously starts tapping his foot to the beat of the quiet music playing – and then stops abruptly, blinking fast, when he realizes it is not his music; he hasn’t touched his playlists at all. The sound is coming from behind him, so he shoves his research aside and turns to look for the source of it.

The first thing that he realizes is the scent; unnoticed by him thanks to his focus being taken up so entirely, their living space has been filled with the delectable scent of spices, sweetness and butter sizzling in a pan. Without his say-so, his stomach gives a hopeful gurgle, and Robotnik swats at it blindly without tearing his gaze away from the kitchen.

The sight is much too entertaining to turn away from it.

The first thing he sees is, as so often, the Mini-Nik. The little thing is zooming through the kitchen, does a sharp turn on each end, and then goes flying to the opposite side in a wavey, bobbing line with an excited whistle, back and forth, back and forth. Very much like an overexcited puppy during playtime, making Robotnik wonder when, exactly, the little personality he had programmed into the drone had evolved to such a degree – and why it had chosen this direction of all things.

Well, maybe the why is easily explained, he thinks with a snort, letting his gaze wander past his tiny creation to the source of its excitement.

Not that Stone is really so… over the top, as the Mini-Nik is. In direct comparison, his good mood is rather tame. He is humming to the music the Mini-Nik’s speaker are playing, timing his movements in tandem with it while swaying in place; it is not quite dancing, but it is also not not dancing. The only thing that really gives it away as either is the fact that he is obviously singing the refrain of the song quietly while whisking something in a bowl with firm movements.

His sycophant’s mood is clearly infectious, since it is the entire reason their Mini-Nik is behaving like a toddler on a sugar rush, and Robotnik just knows there would have been a time when he would have put a stop to this immediately. His babies, much as he loved them, were weapons first and foremost, and not meant for playing around with – well, for anyone except for him, that is.

That rule has been abolished years ago already, though; around the time Stone had begun to pick up on the doctor’s habit of talking to the robots, and begun to do it himself, and the drones had reacted to it, of all things. So by now, years down the road, the doctor merely shakes his head with a grin at the sight of the two dancing around in the kitchen and stands up quietly.

He is fairly sure that even with music and half-distracted, Stone hears him coming from a mile away. He is in not the stealthy one between the two of them, and not trying to be, either. But his sycophant neither turns around nor stops in what he is doing, so Robotnik takes that as the open invitation it is, and moves around the kitchen counter to step right into the bubble of the other man’s personal space. Leaning in to glance over Stone’s shoulder at the contents of the bowl, he finds that it is not an exactly comfortable position; his partner is shorter than him, but still broad and built enough that he will get a crick in his neck if he attempts to spy like this.

Shrugging mentally, Robotnik takes the last step he needs and neatly slots them together, his chest to Stone’s back, his chin hooked over the younger’s shoulder in order to get a good look.

It never comes to that look he wanted; to his utter surprise, Stone’s earlier relaxed mood vanishes the moment they touch, and the former agent freezes in his spot, muscles locking up tight as he stops humming as if he has suddenly run out of breath.

Wrongfooted, Robotnik casts his mind around to figure out what he has done – did he actually manage to startle the other? No, that is not possible; not with Stone’s sharp hearing and his generally stoic manner. Perhaps the doctor had given the impression that he wants the other to stop and pay attention, though; absolutely not what he had in mind. Keep going, he wants to say, or maybe you were having fun, don’t stop now – but the words won’t come, stuck in his throat while his minds whirls and whirls trying to figure out his mistake -

In his sudden insecurity, he instinctively reaches for Stone, wraps his arms around his sycophant because he suddenly thinks the other will bolt, if he lets him, and he is not ready to let him do that.

And that, that holding -  it seems to be the right thing to do; like a switch flipped, or a thread of tension snapping, Stone’s frame relaxes into the touch immediately, shoulders sagging and his weight leaning back against Robotnik’s chest while a formerly held breath is released in a slow, measured sigh.

It is merely a new distribution of weight, the tiniest of shifts, but somehow it is – everything. Every inch they touch more now seems to fire signals to Robotnik’s genius brain, and he is left reeling as the new information is being processed at highspeed. Oh. That is… new. He blinks rapidly, quickly analyzing all the sensations barreling into him; the way Stone leans backwards as if he trusts him to hold his entire weight if necessary; the warmth that immediately gathers between their bodies; the pulse of Stone’s heartbeat beneath his palms, steady and firm. Huh. He has never done the holding before, he realizes. Not holding down, or holding the other still– he is good at that – but simply holding, or hugging… he hadn’t done that. Initiated the contact, yes, because Stone always left him to control the pace, but it had fallen to his sycophant to do the actual holding and leading, since he was the more experienced one out of them.

It makes him feel… protective, in a way, he notes with a frown, tightening his grip unconsciously. As if he is holding something fragile, and not a grown man who could easily throw him around without breaking a sweat. Strange, human urges with no real logic behind them. Instinctual? Born from possessiveness? Does Stone feel the same way, if the roles are reversed? Is that why he likes this whole hugging and holding hands business? Oh, is this why Stone had startled, because it is so new to be on the receiving end of it? Would it be even more intense if Robotnik was being hugged back at the same time? So many questions; he will have to shelf all that to analyze later – maybe even conduct some tests… 

“Doctor?” A gentle question jostles him out of his racing thought, at the same time Stone moves his shoulder slightly to nudge him.

Robotnik blinks. Oh right. He must be heavy. He straightens up, meaning to step back and give the other some space-

Quick as lightning, Stone’s hand settles over both of his, keeping them firmly planted to his sycophant’s lower body. Oh.

As if to agree with his dawning realization that he is welcome to stay, Stone tilts his head back enough so their gazes meet over his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not that I mind this,” here, his thumb circles firmly into the back of Robotnik’s hand to indicate what he means, “but did you need something?”

Getting yet another new touch to catalogue, it takes Robotnik a moment to get his mouth to work once more. “Mmh, no," he more mutters than say, relaxing gradually once more. If he is welcome, he will take full advantage of it; his chin comes to rest on Stone's shoulder once more, his weight leaning heavily into the other. "I came over to check what you're doing. That doesn't look like dinner?"

"Dinner is over there," Stone uses the whisk he is still holding to gesture at the sizzling pans. "This here is dessert."

Humming, Robotnik lifts his nose and takes a deep breath, catching a whiff of sweetness that makes his mouth water. "Chocolate?"

“Flourless chocolate cake,” Stone confirms. He lets go of their joined hands, and picks the bowl up once more to start mixing again; if the added weight on his back bothers him, he does not show it. “I found an easy recipe and wanted to try it.”

Mumbling an agreement, Robotnik watches the even motions Stone goes through, unconsciously flexing his fingers against the other's stomach; the back of his hand feels cold after his sycophant has let go. But the rest of him is warm, toasty and relaxed where they are touching, so he stays, letting the monotony lull him into a half daze. Whisking, a quick tilt of a pan, the shake of a spice bottle to add some more taste - even hampered in his movements, Stone goes through the cooking with the expertise of a five-star chef. Of course, the doctor has known that his sycophant's cooking is delectable, he has had the privilege to enjoy it often enough, but seeing it all take shape in front of his eyes is another thing entirely. It reminds him a bit of chemistry, in an abstract way. And the smell is-... delightful. Mouthwatering. Very tempting.

Never a man to resist temptation when it suits him, Robotnik reaches out with one hand to grasp for the temporarily abandoned bowl of dessert-

And immediately, Stone's free hand shoots out and pushes the doctor's own aside. "No."

Immediately, Robotnik scowls and slaps at the offending hand. "I'm taste testing."

"There are raw eggs in there. You could get sick."

"Don't be ridiculous, a little bit cannot make me sick."

"I'm not risking -" another brief scuffle which Stone wins once more by grabbing Robotnik's wrist. There is laughter and offense wrapped into the younger man's voice in even measure as he protests, "No!"

"Don't be a mother hen, sycophant." Robotnik growls with no heat - and then grins, triumphant, when he realizes Stone's other hand is still busy handling the rest of the pans, which leaves him at a disadvantage. Too bad. Letting go of the other entirely, the doctor tries again to reach around him.

“Help,” Stone says, tone flat and as dry as a desert.

Despite himself, Robotnik stops and gives a surprised snort. “Who exactly are you asking for help…?”

There is a whistle, and something collides with his forehead; not sharp enough to really hurt, but clearly a warning shot all the same.

Feeling his jaw go slack with indignation, Robotnik rips his head up from his comfy spot and stares up at the Mini-Nik who had just dived at him, and is now beeping insistently at him. His thievery is entirely forgotten in favor of protesting in pure indignation, “You did not just turn against your own creator, you little traitor!”

The chirping only intensifies, and the little drone bops in place, flashing its lens in a myriad of colors like a faulty traffic light.

“Are you backtalking at me?! That is enough of an offense to get you put into Standby Mode for the foreseeable – Stone, stop laughing this instant!”

His growled command does not what it should gave. Instead of pulling himself together, Stone's laughter reaches an entirely new pitch and he doubles over forward, dropping the pan he had been holding back onto the stove in order to support himself on the counter instead to stay upright while he nearly howls with laughter.

More concerned that the other might actually fall over than he is offended, Robotnik huffs out a sigh and wraps one arm around Stone's waist once more to draw him upright with a sharp yank.

At least bis sycophant seems to appreciate the help accordingly; he goes willingly along with the tug and leans back against the taller man, head falling heavy against the doctor's shoulder while he shakes helplessly with mirth.

The sight of a flushes, chuckling and grinning Stone makes it hard to stay angry for long, softening out offense into mild annoyance, and Robotnik rolls his eyes; he is smart enough to recognize losing battles and avoid them. But even as he relents, he cannot help but quip, “I should never have programmed any of them to your voice.”

“Aw no,” Stone hiccups a chuckle, which causes a strange kind of fluttering somewhere in Robotnik’s chest area (damn those heart palpitations) and wipes his teary eyes while he fights for some composure. “Don’t say that; it made me very happy.”

Ah. Well. At least his generous gesture had been appreciated, Robotnik thinks with a haughty sniff. Whatever lingering annoyance he had still felt refuses to stay even as he tries to cling to it for a beat longer, as always when he gets reminded of how much Stone really admires and respects his babies, unlike the rest of the…

...Wait. Robotnik blinks, frowning. When exactly had he told Stone about the voice activation? Not before first meeting the blue menace, that is for sure; he can still remember Stone turning to him to seek out orders for the Badniks from him when they had chased it through half of the States. Then after he came back… no, then, Stone had already worked with the babies as if they were his own.

Then his sycophant must have figured it out while working with his manifesto. Which gave him several months’ time to get recognized by the network and the Badniks, so of course they would listen to him as if he was their Daddy.

Welp, he is clearly outnumbered here. If he makes Stone ask for help even one more time, it is likely the entire Badnik swarm will come running. Or flying. Same difference.

Not yet ready to admit that the thought of that fills him with a strange kind of pride, Robotnik grunts and pointedly lets his head fall back onto Stone’s shoulder hard. “If it made you happy, share the chocolate.”

A chuckle shakes him through and Stone’s voice betrays his smile even as he says, “No.”

“Bastard,” the doctor snaps without real heat. 

“You will get the cake for today’s dessert; you can wait that long.”

Wait? When has he ever waited for something? If he wants something, he gets it, immediately. Takes it by force, if necessary.

But somehow, face tucked into the crook of Stone’s neck and hearing his sycophant pick up his cheerful humming once more while he continues cooking even with the doctor leaning over him – somehow, he thinks he can endure the waiting for once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, the waiting does indeed pay off – not that Robotnik would admit as much to Stone, but he has the suspicion his cheeky sycophant knows it anyway. Dinner had been a delight, the taste by far surpassing the already delectable scents that had drawn him into the kitchen in the first place. After two servings of the buttery-soft meat with steamed vegetables and rice, the doctor had devoured a large piece of the chocolate cake with great gusto, and let drop seemingly casual that Stone should consider making this recipe a regular in their home.

The sight of the pleased flush coupled with a grin that Stone had been sporting for the rest of dinner had satiated an entirely different craving than hunger for Robotnik as well. The warmth of it had kept him cozy and comfortable for a good hour after.

It all had to end at some point though, and that point is reached now – Robotnik standing in front of their shared bed, drawers ripped open around him and dug through, clothes strewn about on the floor around the seething man, who is currently staring at two shirts he had ripped out of the mess and laid across the mattress to get a good look at them.

The good look had turned into a gaze so fiery and full of hate that it is a miracle the pieces of cloth are not set on fire yet. It would serve them right, Robotnik thinks with a snarl, for betraying him like this.

But even as he thinks it, he knows that the only one here to blame is himself, not his old shirts.

He has simply gotten too chubby for the outfits he wore as a government scientist. But he had neglected to take that fact into consideration when going to hunt down an appropriate outfit for that holiday stream, and now it has come back to slap him in the face.

With a toneless sigh, he presses his hand to the bridge of his nose, rubbing there in tight circles. And here he had thought that picking out an outfit would be a matter of minutes; the much easier part of his project, before he gets back into project b titled what to do for Stone on Friday. But noooo, of course it can never just be easy for him!

Of course he knows that Stone and his Badniks can adjust the outfit easily until Friday – it is only Tuesday, after all, more than enough time still. But he just hates the reminder that he is forgetful… and human. A human with a body which has seen better days… perhaps if he had held off on that cake earlier a bit, then he wouldn’t be here debating that now…

The cake, and perhaps the other two to three months of leisure and binge-eating. Urgh.

"Doctor?"

Absolutely totally not startling, Robotnik grunts a wordless question and glances over at Stone, who is carefully making his way through the mess around him. Without a comment, his sycophant bends to pick up two pairs of trousers (too narrow, now) and folds them over his arm almost absentmindedly, gaze already scanning over the chaos as if planning on how to take care of it most efficiently.

The fact hits Robotnik, then, that this is his mess, but it is Stone who is cleaning it – again; it makes his stomach twist with something else than anger, makes him itchy with something he cannot name; he swallows it all down and turns quickly, decisively, to grab for the two shirts he had been staring at the entire time.

Before his sycophant can say something, or worse, ask questions, he holds the clothes in front of himself for the other’s perusal.  "So?" He asks - demands, because asking would seem too unsure. "Which one would you say fits the occasion best?"

Stone stops, blinks, and opens his mouth as if to ask what occasion, before it dawns on him visibly. He looks surprised briefly, before he sobers, face going contemplative while his gaze jumps between the two pieces.

Robotnik waits, grip so tight it crinkles the cloth in a way he knows will mean it needs ironing. Both pieces had been favorites of his, at one point; the first one a black button down that he is fairly sure he has worn around the lab more often than not, the other a dark wine red one that he had occasionally let himself wear around his own home but had worn to work perhaps once, before deciding it was too nice to be made dirty on the job. 

Well – no, that is not quite right. He is fairly sure that these cannot be the very same clothes, considering his personal belongings had all confiscated by G.U.N when he had been sent to the Mushroom Hell Planet. But they were his – they had his measurements, or at least the measurements he had had back then, and they had appeared in his wardrobe at some point or other. How Stone had known that this is what he would like to wear, when he had gotten then and how… all that is a mystery to the doctor, but for once, he does not want to ask. It feels dangerous to ask, like there would be so much behind the answer to it that he would be entirely unequipped to deal with the enormity of it.

Stone hums contemplatively, drawing Robotnik back to reality where he is still holding two shirts like shields in front of himself.

"You would look great in both of them of course," his sycophant says, tilting his head while he thinks and considers the pieces once again. His expression is a picture of concentration, all of his focus going into this seemingly mundane question. "For Valentine’s Day, though… hm. Can I?”

Can I, what? Robotnik blinks, still kind of stuck on the you would look great – oh, Stone means coming closer. He nods immediately, seeing no reason not to.

With two steps, Stone is in his personal space, leaning into to touch first the black shirt, stretching it out, then doing the same to the red one; holding both of them in front of the doctor’s chest, then dropping them. His other hand is on his chin while he thinks, thumb drawing along his bottom lip slowly, back and forth, back and forth.

It is strangely mesmerizing, this scrutiny directed at him, and Robotnik blinks sharply once more when Stone begins speaking again: “I would say… the black one gives a bit more of a, hm, professional vibe, perhaps; very professional, firm.”

A laugh very nearly bubbles up Robotnik’s throat because - professional? In control? He feels neither, right now; he is a chubby old man in a too small t-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot and wrongfooted by his partner looking at him with all the intensity reserved for artwork to be admired.

But the laughter never comes, dried up in the face of all this single-minded focus as Stone continues his scrutiny carefully; either not noticing or ignoring what it does to his opposite.

“Hm. Yes, I would say the red one is more…”  Stone reaches for the red shirt again, holds it up, then presses it back against Robotnik’s chest and strokes it flat. His hand stays there, fingers spread to hold it down, and his fingertips stroke gently over the genius’ clavicle with the tenderness reserved for something fragile.

For all the care in it, it breaks something open inside of Robotnik; tongue-tied no longer, he asks hoarsely, “More what?”

“Hm?” At least now, Stone blinks just the same – a dreamer waking up, startled back into reality, as he looks up at the other man with round eyes, as if he has forgotten he was talking.

The tiny slipup makes it a little easier, somehow, for Robotnik to find enough composure again to smirk at the other and repeat more firmly, “More what? Use your words, Stone.”

“Oh, uh…” seemingly realizing what position he is in, Stone coughs a little and drops his hand, letting the cloth go with a quiet rustle. “I meant… this color, it's not something you really wore to work. Makes it a bit more. Um. Personal?”

The smirk only widens as Robotnik watches a flush spread over the other man’s face slowly; a telltale sign that he is getting affected by this, as well. Feeling much more assured by this alone that any formfitting outfit could have made him feel, the genius grins wolfishly, leaning in closer to ask, “Why do you not sound sure?”

“Because-…” Stone’s gaze meets his, and there is a brief moment of hesitation – then he seems to catch on to being teased and his eyes harden, sparkling with laughter, as he lifts his chin and finishes firmly, “Because personal is not quite right. I was thinking more intimate."

Ah, there it is; the feeling of surprise-triumph-warmth that Robotnik has almost come to expect when hearing his sycophant praise him, but is still caught unawares a little by every. Single. Time.

Feeling strangely choked up by it, Robotnik clears his throat sharply and rocks back on his heels, fighting the urge to needlessly cover himself with the shirts. “Well. Red, then. I will take the red one."

Whatever kind of odd tension had crackled between them snaps, and Stone is beaming again, straightening up while he reaches for the black shirt instead. “Let me put that one away then.”

Watching the other fold that piece of clothing over his arm, as well, Robotnik finds himself lost on what to do with himself for once. Help clean this up? But then he would need to put his acquired outfit down…

He studies it closely, wondering what possible allure Stone could have seen that he is missing here. It looks good by itself, but…

“This will need – a lot of adjustments,” he admits aloud, holding the thing at arm length while he frowns down at it. “Think it would be easier to just buy a new one?”

“What?” For a moment, it looks like Stone is about to drop the load he is carrying when he wipes his head around, looking downright shocked. “No, of course not. I will have it ready in time.”

“You… will?” Not that he doubts his sycophant’s skills or something, but he had figured that the work would fall to the Badniks, mostly.

“Of course.” Turning back around, Stone throws the clothes into the nearest drawer in an uncharacteristically sloppy way before turning back around. His jaw is set and shoulders drawn back as he crosses the room towards the bathroom and calls back “I will get the measuring tape right now.”

“The-… now?” Robotnik starts to call back, then ends on a mutter when the bathroom door falls closed behind the other and cuts him off. Well then. Not what he had expected, really, but something about what he had said must have gotten Stone’s gears turning – he suddenly seemed in a hurry to do this.

Shrugging to himself over the sudden turn of events, Robotnik looks around, then puts the shirt down onto the bed again and instead kicks haphazardly at some of the mess strewn about, nudging it back into somewhat orderly piles for easier cleaning later. There, he is being useful.

He is contemplating bending down to pick up some discarded socks he is not sure are his or Stone’s when the door opens again and Stone comes back in, waving a measuring band as a sign of found it. “There we go. Would you mind taking off your shirt?”

Ripped from his contemplation of footwear, Robotnik nearly chokes he rips his head up and splutters out too fast, “Excuse me?”

“Your shirt,” undeterred by the display or not noticing, Stone unrolls the band between his hands as he comes to a stop in front of the other, looking up expectantly. When nothing happens, he frowns and adds, “The measurements won’t be right if you’re wearing a shirt.”

“...Right. Makes sense.”

It does, and doesn’t. Robotnik is fairly sure if he plays with the settings of one of his babies, he could have them take his measurements with a simple scan. He thinks Stone knows this, too.

Neither of them mentions it. He turns around, suddenly feeling awkward to do this while they look each other in the eye, and bends a bit to shrug his shirt up and over his head. There. He drops it to the floor, and stops to stare at it while his mind whirls. Is he supposed to turn back around, or stay like this? How does measuring for a shirt even go, exactly?

“Could you turn back around and lift your arms, please?”

Well. At least Stone seems to have some idea what is necessary here, so it would be a waste not to follow his request. Turning back around, Robotnik dithers for only half a second before he lifts his arms up and to the side. “Like this?”

“Yes, thank you.” Stepping closer, Stone snaps the band between his hands, thinks for a beat, and then steps to the left in order to reach the doctor’s right arm. As he brings the measuring band up to the limb he stops and taps against the arm lightly. “You don’t have to hold it so tense. Relaxed posture is okay.”

“… Right,” trying to sound like he had been tense on purpose and is now adjusting, Robotnik does as he is told for once.

He watches, overly aware of the ticklish touch of it, as Stone first measures the length from shoulder to elbow, then elbow to wrist, and then reaches around to measure the width of upper and lower arm and the wrist. Each movement is done quick and efficient, and yet oozes obvious care as his sycophant makes sure not to pull to tight and not let the band snap against skin at any point.

It takes some of the jittery feeling out of Robotnik’s’ chest, and when Stone steps over to the other side, he offers his arm much more readily and easily. Still, he points out, “Is one arm not enough?”

“You can never be sure,” Stone says absentmindedly while he lifts the band up and – puts it between his lips?

Robotnik blinks, briefly admiring the flash of white teeth biting down, then realizes that the gesture is so Stone has his hands free as the other reaches into his own pants pocket and procure a pen and a notepad. He jots down a few numbers quickly before he pockets both items again.

Still a bit perplexed, the doctor points out, "You don't really need to write that down."

Stone stops, measuring band back in hand, and cocks an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Don’t play obtuse, sycophant. You can remember the measurements; that’s child’s play for you.”

“Oh,” a smile tugs at the other’s lips and he looks pleased, as he always does when his smarts are acknowledged by the genius. “Well, for now, sure. Never know when I will need the values again, though."

Hm. Fair, but… does that mean he will tailor clothes for the doctor again in the future? His sycophant would have to go through all that work again, willingly? Contemplating that for a bit, Robotnik nearly jumps when the cool metal tip of measuring tape is back, pressing against his armpit.

Immediately, Stone pulls back. “Sorry.”

“… Meh. Go ahead. Thing’s going to warm up soon I hope.”

Apologetic smile turning genuine, Stone huffs a laugh at the petulant tone, and goes to work again.

They work in silence for quite a while – well, Stone is working, and Robotnik is just… standing there. He feels a bit like a mannequin, to be honest; heck, he basically is one, a mannequin standing at the ready for Stone’s contemplation.

The thought is not as annoying as it should have been.

The arms, it turns out, where the easy part. Once those are done and Stone has written down the numbers he needs in a short hand Robotnik for all his genius can only wonder about, his sycophant suddenly says “Excuse me” and steps in even closer, bringing them nearly nose to nose in a way that almost makes Robotnik rear back in surprise -

But Stone is not even looking at him, instead down at about the height of the doctor’s breastbone as he reaches around him with the measuring band. Ah. The chest width is up next. Rather adamant about not having to see the exact size of his so-called “man boobs”, Robotnik raises his gaze and stares at the opposite wall unblinkingly.

He nearly regrets that choice when not only the measuring band – now a tad warmer – touches his skin, but the unmistakable touch of fingertips ghosting against his chest nearly makes him choke on his breath. He barely swallows the sound and looks down to find Stone, still deep in concentration, pressing down the band against the doctor’s chest while he reads the numbers there, fingers stroking over skin unconsciously as he adjusts the band a bit. “There we go… okay, that’s the chest done. Still comfortable? Not too cold?”

Cold? Aside from the fact that the Crab is always kept at a comfortable temperature, cold is the last thing he is currently feeling. Does Stone even notice how he is touching – all this? Adipose tissue, body hair, pale skin? There is hardly a way he can overlook all that, and yet-...

Completely blind to all the racing thoughts in that brilliant brain in front of him for once, Stone continues going about his work, stepping around the doctor to get behind him, measuring out the width of his shoulders, then down his back. Every few minutes he stops to write something down, before continuing on.

Coming back in front, he checks his motes briefly before looking up. "Almost done. Still okay?"

"Getting a bit stiff in the shoulders," pointedly, Robotnik rolls his shoulders, waves his arms, but smirks when he sees his sycophant frown. "Oh, don't look so sour, Stone, I can deal with a little pain."

"Mhm," the frown stays, and it is obvious that Stone does not like the sound of that. "Well, we are almost done. Not much longer."

"See, I will be able to handle a little-...." more, Robotnik had meant to say, amused, but it gets stuck in his throat.

Because Stone is kneeling down at his feet.

What. The. Hell.

Alright, maybe not this kind of more!

"...Stone?" His voice comes halting, letters tangling together as they trip of his tongue. "Dropped something, sycophant?"

A soft laugh answers as Stone scoots closer, knees nearly nudging against the doctor's toes while he reaches up. "No, but the last step is around your belly, and like this I don't have to bend over at an awkward angle."

Around... alright, he hadn’t considered that, Robotnik thinks bitterly. Which is incredibly short-sighted, of course, since his growing belly is the main reason why he needs an upgrade in his wardrobe. But still, that will mean putting numbers and facts to what he has been keeping quiet about so far.

Worse, yet, Stone will see it. While basically having to press his face into said offensive adipose tissue to even be able to reach around him.

The bitterness manifests as a burning sensation around his stomach area, and Robotnik swallows the nausea of it down with grit teeth. "The Badniks can handle it."

For the first time since they have started, Stone stops moving entirely; he goes so quiet he seems to be holding his breath. With the way they are positioned - with his damn belly in the way - Robotnik cannot see his sycophant's face, which makes this entire situation even worse.

"Why?" Stone finally says, voice quiet and soft. "I'm almost done.""

"You can't-..." can't like this, can't see this, can't do a lot of things. Robotnik does not say any of it, knowing distantly that it will lead to an argument for some reason or other. Instead, he finishes, "You are literally kneeling on front of me, Stone, this is ridiculous. You don't have to. Let the drones do it."

A beat, two. And then-...

"No."

The single word nearly knocks Robotnik of his feet, genius brain stopping entirely while his mouth falls open. Stone doesn’t outright deny him things; he very carefully nudges the genius’ thoughts in a direction more aligned with his own perspective. But now, he had really just gone and told him - "No?"

"No," Stone repeats, tone gentle but firm. "I'm not handing this job over, sorry."

He doesn't sound sorry; he doesn't even sound angry, or stubborn, simply... Robotnik cannot say what it is, he only knows it is not what he expected. "You-..." he starts, stop; tries again with the only thing he can think of.  "Why?"

It is a horribly unsatisfying question, way to unclear and open. There is a myriad of excuses or logical reasoning which his sycophant could have presented in answer - that it is almost done; that he sees it as his duty to do this. Nice, rational things to say.

Of course, Stone ignores all of them as he sits back on his haunches and looks up, eyes warm but jaw set as their gazes meet, and says with steel and sincerity bleeding into every letter. "I don't really know how you missed it, doctor, but - I like doing this. I'm happy doing this."

As if to prove his point, Stone reaches up, checking with a quick look if he will be stopped - and when Robotnik does not move, he settles both palms around the doctor's sides, over the love handles there, spreads his fingers to capture more of it all while he smiles up at the older, stunned man. "It shows me I'm allowed to do it, and that makes me happy."

For all that he has geared up to argue, Robotnik finds his carefully crafted arguments flying to the wind - because even unequipped as he is to read emotions, even he can see that Stone is telling the truth. His sycophant is radiating nothing but genuine happiness, kneeling there at his feet and touching him innocently but with care. There is even a certain, dare he think it, reverence, in the way Stone is looking up at him.

He doesn’t understand a lot about… affection, or love, not in the way Stone speaks of it. But this… he is not so blind that he can miss something that is so obvious.

Instead of ranting, of defending and pulling back, the doctor takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, feeling whatever tension that had built in the last few minutes bleed out of him.

Seeming to sense that he is about to win this round, Stone smiles slowly, crookedly; his grip tightens around both his handfuls, squeezing the soft tissue, simply holding while his thumbs stroke circles into it. "And just in case you are saying all that because of some superficiality - then don't. I like what I see, you know?" His gaze is unwavering as it meets Robotnik’s, eyes gentle but determined. "I would ask you not to talk badly about it."

And then, his final, devastating strike – before the genius mind can properly try to formulate a counterargument, Stone leans in and brushes his lips against the belly right in front of him, light as a whisper, right above the belly button. The touch is there and gone again, nearly as soft as a breath, but it sends warmth from the point of contact outwards up and down Robotnik’s entire body, melting away tension and ripping away any prickly bulwark he had drawn up around himself in defense like a wet tissue in a storm.

Left with little more to do than catching his breath desperately, brain crashing and rebooting in quick succession, Robotnik takes an endlessly long moment to find his voice again and grind out, "You. Are one cracked barnacle."

But even has he says it, his hand moves on its own accord and settles on the top of Stone’s head, the only thing in easy reach, and cards through the slightly longer hair there.

If Stone is bothered by the way the touch undoes his usual style and sends loose strands falling into his eyes, he does not even so much as blink to give it away. He is grinning near boyishly with glee, letting go of the doctor to settle back on his haunches and reach up with the measuring tape again instead. "That sounds better," he mutters fondly while fiddling with the tape. "Now, one second, I will finish up."

“Go ahead then,” Robotnik shrugs with all the nonchalance he can muster which is... not a lot right now. But he makes no move to stop his sycophant this time when the tape unfurls and wraps around his middle; does not mind as much as he should have as it stretches and tightens around the expanse of it. He is much more focused on the hands that hold the tape - now that he is paying attention, even he cannot skip the fact how they touch him; how each touch lingers just a beat longer than necessary, how gentle yet firm each brush is in a way that turns it from accidental touches into obviously deliberate contact.

 It is somewhere around the time Stone has the tape wrapped around him and still strokes over it once, twice, as if to smooth it when it is no longer necessary, that it really sinks into the genius' paranoid mind. Oh. Stone actually does like this - likes his body, likes touching it.

The realization turns something which had barely toed the line of being merely a duty into something outright personal, intimate, and Robotnik shudders as he feels goosebumps around the places which have been touched with such reverence.

The motion dies not go unnoticed, to his chagrin. Stone is too attuned to miss it, and he stops immediately, looking up with a frown. "Cold?"

Ah. At least he had misunderstood, thankfully. Shrugging, Robotnik makes a show of rubbing his arm with a hand and grumbles "I am the one standing here without a shirt, after all."

Frown morphing into a s light smile, Stone gestures behind himself and calls over his shoulder, "Baby, come here."

There is an answering beep and the Mini-Nik comes flying over, nudges at Stone's searching hand, and the follows the reach of it up to the nearby night table. Once there, it pushes against the gauntlet lying on top until it tumbles over the edge.

Stone catches the falling tech easily and puts it down beside himself, eyes already returning to his original work while he begins typing into the glove.

Around them, the Crab hums, and its circuitry begins working as it cranks up the heat a notch.

Neither of the men pay it outright attention. Stone is taking the last measurements and jotting them down, and Robotnik has zeroed in on what his sycophant has just done so very casually; the almost absentminded way the other played with the complicated settings, the way Stone's fingers flew over the buttons blindly because he knows it all by heart.

 It still elicits an oddly... proud feeling, seeing someone else use his tech with nearly the same skill as himself.

But wait. Only nearly? he wonders. No, by now, Stone must be basically on the same level as he is. If his sycophant does not handle all parts of the technology they have in their possession, it is simply because some of it has always fallen solely under the doctor's jurisdiction; not because of a lack of skill...

"There, that's the last of it. You're free again."

Blinking sharply, Robotnik snaps back to the present in time to see Stone get back up, notebook and tape in one hand, the gauntlet in the other.

Zeroing in on the later since that had been on his mind, anyway, Robotnik nods towards the gauntlet with his chin while he turns and bends to grab his discarded shirt. "Stone?"

"Yes?"

"How is the performance of the gauntlets?" He sees the readings, whenever they are used, but those are theoretical data, not the practical part. They are Stone's gloves alone, different from his, and they need to fit his sycophant perfectly. He will not stand for anything else. "Still satisfied with them?"

"Satisfied?" Stone looks surprised when he says it, voice rising a tad as he echoes the question, then he grins and shakes his head. "Doctor, I'm in awe still! They are an amazing piece of technology and I'm honored I get to use them."

Ah. Should have probably seen it coming. A derisive snort in the face of such sincere joy is impossible, especially with how near tenderly Stone cradles the gauntlet to his chest. So Robotnik can only cross his arms, grinning crookedly. "Flatterer. They can only show their true potential because you’re the one using them, you know."

It is the right thing to say; even though it should have been impossible, Stone's smile only grows, as luminous as the sun, and he ducks his head while rubbing a hand over his neck. "Oh, that is - I have been watching you work with the gloves for so long, so using that as a base I did my best..."

As if simply watching would be enough to see through the complexity of hiss system and master the controls with such a precision; the pride Robotnik has been feeling since earlier turns soft, twists his core tight with a nearly nauseating strong fondness while he watches his sycophant stammer needless excises. All that earlier confidence and reassuring calm, gone the moment he praises Stone. It never fails to entertain and annoy a tiny bit both.

With an eyeroll towards the ceiling, Robotnik takes a step forward and throws an arm out to grab Stone by the neck and pull him closer, holding the man's mouth closed with his other hand. "Babab! Shut up, Stone, and take the compliment."

His grip has been hard and fast, but Stone never tenses, not even on instinct. He goes with the yank easily, and looks up at the genius with surprised, round eyes while he speaks. Only then does his face crease in the way that betrays his smile even when it is hidden behind a palm, and he hums a Mhm of agreement.

Satisfied, Robotnik pulls his hand away, but uses the other still around Stone's neck to haul him even closer, nearly knocking their foreheads together while he makes eye contact. "And you will finish the tailoring 'til Friday, you say?"

"Easily," Stone confirms without missing a beat.

"Hmmm. Why do I not know that you're a tailor?"

"You didn't ask?"

There is a smile in Stone voice even when his face almost manages to remain impassive, and Robotnik growls, mostly amused, and angles his head to nip at the other's jaw sharply in reprimand. "Smartass."

Even through the pain, Stone only laughs, tilting his head back for easier access; the way he runs a hand through the doctor's wild hair seems to be instinct by now.

Feeling very much like a tamed beast in that moment, Robotnik pulls back, watching his laughing sycophant for a moment before coming to a decision. "You know, tinker tailor, if you do an okay job with those adjustments, I might consider letting you think up my next outfits as well."

Thanks to his fingers still wrapped around Stone's neck, he feels the way the other swallows dryly as his eyes go wide, then crease with the force of his smile. "Really? You would think about it?"

"Not think about it; finish this nicely, and you got the job." Casting a look towards the mess around them, from pants to shirts to some unmentionables, Robotnik wrinkles his nose. "My wardrobe could need an overhaul, anyway."

"I... I would love to help," Stone tries to nod, then stops when he realizes he cannot with the grip around his throat. It does nothing to dim his smile or his excitement. "Do you have any idea what you would like, to start with?"

"Hmmm." The excitement comes so readily, so eagerly, Robotnik feels a hunch steer in the back of his mind and narrows his eyes, fighting down a grin. "I get the feeling you do, sycophant."

"I was... preparing. Just in case."

"Mhm, in case." So, restocking his old wardrobe had been only step one, huh. The grin gets too strong to fight and Robotnik lets it stretch over his lips, near manic, showing teeth. The lengths Stone would go for his sake nourishes an ever-hungry part of him, a greedy thing somewhere in the recesses of his mind that cannot get enough of it. "I don't have a preference in mind. Finish this shirt up in a way that will blow everyone's mind, and I will play your mannequin again."

He can hear the deep breath Stone takes, and hums in satisfaction when he notes the way the younger's spine straightens. There; challenge accepted. While his sycophant always did amazing work, a little reward could go a long way to drive him to even greater heights.

Letting go, Robotnik draws his hand back in a way that drags his knuckles against the other's bearded cheek, then steps back. "Go on, get started with your planning. I will clean up here."

Blinking fast, Stone jolts back to awareness, brows furrowing when he opens his mouth to protest, "I can-..."

"... start on my new getup ASAP, yes," the doctor interrupts him with an amused eyeroll. "Go on, sycophant, shoo; I can manage a tiny mess like this."

For a beat it looks like Stone, dithering in place, will try again; then he softens, a smile quirking his lips and he surrenders. "Alright, fine. I will see if I can find a place close by that sells everything I will need."

Making a show of waving him off, Robotnik waits until Stone has truly turned around to walk away before he immediately snaps around, attention zeroing in on the object of his interest.

The Mini-Nik resting on the night table next to Stone's leftover gauntlet chirps happily when it sees its creator coming closer. It's lens contract in a facsimile of a blink when it pushes into his pat with a whirr of machinery; it makes no move to stop him when he picks up the gauntlet it is protecting.

Robotnik weighs the gadget in his hand, frowning thoughtfully. He had created them as a copy of his own gloves, deciding that Stone had more than earned the right to wield them. Today... no, the past few months, had not only supported him in that decision, but makes him now realize a thing or two in real time.

For one, that for all the things Stone does for him day for day - or even today alone - he can endure indulging in one awful holiday.

And second.... Robotnik lets his thumb drift over the gauntlet in his hand thoughtfully, second, he might have a first idea what to gift his sycophant.

Loyalty for loyalty. The doctor lifts his creation up, turning it over while it contemplates it with a crooked smirk. Trust for trust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning finds Robotnik bent over his workstation in deep concentration, prying the cover at the inner side of Stone's gauntlets open carefully with the tiniest screwdriver in his arsenal. He had gotten up earlier for this than he had in weeks, had even cancelled stream for the day without an explanation. Just because his gift idea had buzzed under his skin like a shock of electricity, demanding to be brought to reality right now. Even breakfast had been a hastier affair than usual before he had immediately stalked off and swiped the gauntlets from their resting place unnoticed while Stone had been doing the dishes, and then gone to work. The doctor is determined to see this through in one sitting. It is only Wednesday now, but he wants to be ready with time to spare... just in case.

The covering gives way and he hums, satisfied, and begins connecting the gauntlets with his computer. He will begin with some basic maintenance and some updates for the time being, before putting his true plan into motion.

But for the later, he needs to be sure that Stone will not be watching from over his shoulder.

The diagnostics start running while Robotnik nods his head to the quiet music filtering out of the surrounding speakers, and discreetly glances off to the side from time to time. On the other side of the Crab, Stone seems to be quite busy for a while now; he is darting back and forth, unpacking some bags he had gone out to buy extra early this morning, talking quietly with the Badniks trailing him, and somewhere in between finding the time to brew a latte and bring it over - and exactly that is why he had  started in with the harmless diagnostics first, Robotnik thinks, amused, while he hides the gauntlets behind his back with an easy sweep of his arm and a murmured thanks that has Stone distracted enough that he does not even look at the workstation for a moment too long. Easy as pie.

The doctor sips the beverage while letting his eyes trail after his sycophant. The bags earlier had contained bolts of fabric, so it is easy to guess what Stone will be working on next; the only surprise is that there is much more than simply what is needed for the agreed-on adjustments - there is not only a bolt of a dark wine red, but also a forest green so dark that is nearly black, and something that looks like golden velvet.

Seems like he had gone and put ideas in Stone's head when agreeing to let him tailor more things for him, Robotnik thinks with a smirk, hiding it quickly behind his cup before it can be taken note off. He waits, uncharacteristically patient, until the rustle and clinking behind him signals that Stone has gone to work, and then takes a glance back –

And yes, truly, Stone is spreading his haul out on the ground in the middle of the Crab, sitting down cross-legged next to it all while he bends over the wine-red fabric with intense focus, pen in one hand, notebook with measurements in the other.

Perfect. That will keep his sycophant busy for a bit.

Waving one of his Badniks over, the doctor types in a quick sequence to have it hover over his right shoulder, keeping its gleaming red eye trained on Stone; it will alert him should the other come closer. Security in place, he cracks his knuckles, and goes to work. He needs to be quick but careful about this; tearing down walls of coding and security measures of his own making and rebuilding them in a way that it will not be immediately noticeable once Stone puts the gauntlets on is no easy feat, not even for him. But since there is no way he can keep the gadgets hidden from his sycophant for two entire days, this is the only way.

Soon, he is drawn in by the challenge, and forgets the world around them.

For a while, the only sounds that disturbs the companionable silence in the Crab is the sound of keys clacking and cloth rustling, from time to time broken by the beep of a passing Badnik or the happily thrilling Mini-Nik.

Finishing up the most crucial line of coding, Robotnik sighs back with a soundless sigh, letting his gaze travel over his changes. There. That is done. He waits to see if there is any kind of regret waiting to creep up on him – the sudden urge to go and undo his work of the past moments – but it never comes; it just feels correct, and long overdue.

A quiet beep pulls him from his thoughts just when the Badnik next to him overs closer and nudges against his cheek to get his attention. It is not the warning signal they agreed on, but Robotnik reaches up to pat the drone anyway, and asks without looking “Stone?”

Different from usual, there is no immediate answer. When Robotnik swings his chair around and looks for the reason himself, he finds Stone standing by their night table on the other side of the Crab, turning slowly around himself with a frown. The Mini-Nik following him is scanning any part of the room that Stone could possibly miss with a red light, beeping periodically to announce that nothing has been found yet. 

Already having a hunch where this is going, Robotnik leans backs with his arms crossed and clears his throat loudly, almost laughing when the other snaps to attention immediately. "Looking for something, Stone?" He asks with an oh-so-innocent grin.

"Yes, actually," for once, Stone looks sheepish mixed with downright frustrated as he runs a hand through his hair, gaze still darting back and forth uneasily. "I hate to say it, but I can't seem to find my gauntlets; I could have sworn they are-..."

"That all?” Robotnik interrupts, snapping his fingers while he scoots aside with his chair. He had meant to tease his sycophant a bit, but not cause actual distress; that would defeat the entire purpose of his project. He waves Stone over, offering him a crooked grin that hopefully will ease the worry. “You could have just asked. They are here."

It is almost ridiculous, how Stone’s worried expression melts into one of bone-deep relief as he comes hurrying over, breaking out into a tremendous smile when he spots the flayed open gauntlets on the workstation. “Oh, thank god, I really thought-… Wait, is something wrong with them?"

Despite himself, Robotnik snorts when the other immediately draws his hand back as if worried to touch the gadgets. He shakes his head while flipping through his screens, opening the inconspicuous data sets he had been working on right at the start. “Some simple maintenance; you have been using them a lot, and traces of wear could hamper their functionality if we let them accumulate."

"I see. Is it something I can help with?" Immediately, Stone’s eyes brighten as he reaches for a nearby chair and drags it closer to sit next to the doctor, gaze flicking over the presented data eagerly.

Robotnik gives him a few beats to simply drink it all in while simultaneously allowing himself to bask in the admiration the other is basically oozing; finally he clicks his tongue and answers with a flap of his hand, “Meh, no, I'm almost finished. If you wanted to see it, you should have asked earlier,"

After all this time, Stone does not even hesitate before he laughs; knowing quite well the words are tease, not a slight. He leans over enough that their shoulders nudge together. "You could have said something."

Absolutely not, but he is not about to admit that. Nudging back, Robotnik fastens another wire and runs the diagnostics. While they flow over the screen, he points out, "You seemed busy."

"Well," a shrug, a silent not that much. "I'm starting in on the corrections on your shirt."

More like sewing an entirely new one, Robotnik does not say. He doesn't feel much like cynicism after their, hm, exchange, the evening before. He hits pause in the right spot, duplicating the screen to shove its twin towards Stone for his observation while he taps in the little code bits he had left for last to use as an excuse…. And maybe to show off with them, a little. He is aware of Stone watching the code appear with interest, and perhaps slows down just enough to make it easier to read.

Look. Alright. He thrives on admiration. Let him have his fun, dammit.

Adding the finishing touches, he confirms it all and sits back, angling his head so he can watch Stone read it. "There you go."

Stone hums an intrigued sound, scrolling through the changes while a slow smile spreads over his face. "You raised the power of the electrical charges?"

"Yes and no. The default setting remains the same, but you will be able to regulate the power depending on what you want to use it on."

"Amazing."

It is said no louder than a breath; a little incredulous, mostly awed. Robotnik is fairly sure that Stone isn’t even fully aware he has said it, too focused on the code still. But the genius hears, and it does not fail to make him feel like he can do everything. Much more than any fantastical power source could do.

Suddenly feeling jittery with all that tingly feeling buzzing under his skin, Robotnik claps his hands, pushing his chair back while he clears his throat. “Well then, sycophant, I showed you mine; now show me yours.”

Stone looks up from the screen as it fizzles out in front of him, eyes wide and startled. “What?”

“Your little project,” Robotnik waves meaningfully over his shoulder to the calculated mess the other had created there. “Show me how you do it.”

For a moment, Stone looks absolutely flabbergasted; lips parted and eyes wide. Then he practically lights up and shoots to his feet, turning to go in such a hurry that he nearly misses that he is supposed to bring the genius too. He stops and turns, offering out a hand with a sheepish half grin. “Follow me?”

So terribly excited; so terribly endearing. Snorting to himself, Robotnik takes the offered hand and allows the other to pull his sizable weight up until he is standing. For once, he is the one pulled along as Stone darts ahead, their hands still interlinked. He finds he does not mind, like this; when it is not disrespect or roughness, but simply infectious joy.

The moment is not quite broken when they reach their goal and Stone lets go to sit down instead. He folds his legs over cross while he picks up the first strip of fabric he has prepared with one hand, scissors in the other. “So the first step,” he explains while pointing at the silhouette on the fabric, “was of course preparing the pattern. I will cut this out – that’s the easy part – and then I will start sewing the pieces together. If I do it correctly, I can add in the existing shirt, which would save me some material-…”

Nodding along while he listens with half an ear, Robotnik lets his gaze travel over the assorted materials, then back to Stone, who is flushed with pleasure but focused anyway. There is a certain order about how everything is arranged, a practiced ease in every movement; this is not new to his sycophant. But still, even with that in mind, this looks like a whole lot of work, Robotnik thinks with a raised eyebrow. The materials, the time… and all of it by hand? They have technology for this. They have drones. Heck, he could wipe an entirely new machine up for this, if only Stone asked.

Taking the measurements himself, that much had the doctor understood; it had been about proving a point. But this seems… too much?

Intrigued now, Robotnik interrupts Stone unwittingly while he blurts, "Why do you insist on this?"

"… On what?" Stone looks puzzled when he trails off, glancing between the fabric and the doctor. “The color?”

"Not that," the doctor huffs, or snorts, he is not quite sure himself. He lowers himself to the ground next to Stone, less gracefully than he would have liked, gaze focused on the sure and precise way the other man is handling scissors and fabric. "That much is obvious. I meant, why not let the Badniks do it? Or tell me to construct a sewing machine for you; you know I could."

You know I would, he does not say, but he is fairly sure it is implied.

"Ah. Hm, well. Maybe I’m a bit of a control freak on this," Stone answers lightly, tone half-joking, half self-deprecating. "You know I love the babies, and I am aware that they can handle tasks that require a lot of fine feeling. But if I don't do this myself, I will keep wondering if it is just right and it will drive me crazy."

Humming vaguely, Robotnik gives a jerky nod in agreement; in truth, he is listening to the echo of what Stone just said. Love them? Obviously, his sycophant trusts in his babies, admires them, but when had it evolved this far?

Had anybody but himself ever looked at his creations with anything else than greed and dread?

The swish of cloth being cut draws him from his musings, and Robotnik watches with a raised eyebrow while Stone expertly starts cutting pieces of clothes into shape. He had obviously considered that showing is better than telling.

The lines are as precisely cut as if done with a machine, and the movements so secure and precise it borders on surgical. It does take not time at all before the two main pieces are cut out. Nothing a beginner could have done; not so fast.

"You have done this before," Robotnik states, almost accuses.

"Once or twice." Holding two pieces together, Stone hums in obvious satisfaction and reaches for the needle next. "Sewing is a useful skill to have out in the field; clothes or skin, a needle basically works the same on either."

The doctor is fairly sure that is not the case. But then, his own sewing skills are limited to sewing up his sycophant slash bodyguard whenever he took a hit for him, so he does not have a lot to compare it with. Remembering one of those very memorable moments of first aid, Robotnik drawls with a half-smile, "Oh-so-poetic words from a man who thinks bullets should be removed from limbs with pocket knives."

The needle misses on the next stitch and Stone snorts, shooting him a sideways look. "Will you let me live that down at some point?"

"Never," Robotnik shrugs with a half smirk and props his chin up one hand, watching in utter fascination as the two seemingly strangely formed pieces are slowly being sewed together into the vague shape of a sleeveless shirt, gaping open in the front. "Is every skill you learned a skill for the field? Like - latte making?"

This time, the laughter spills over, drawing Stone's lips up and creasing his eyes when he looks up from his work. "Where on the field would I have used that? "

"Is that a No?"

"It is. I just liked good coffee, so I learned to make it."

Humming, Robotnik scoots closer in a way that lets him slot their legs together easier, his arm pressing against Stone's while he studies the other up close. "And since you are a perfectionist, you took it to the next level."

To his surprise, Stone shakes bis head, laugh lines deepening while he pulls the needle through, adjusts it, and goes on. “Hardly. I was quite happy to make myself a good but normal coffee blend with sugar and maybe some cream. A cappuccino, if I was feeling especially fancy, but that was it.”

Now that is interesting. More intrigued by the man himself now than by his handiwork, Robotnik rips his head up to stare at Stone’s smiling profile instead of his deft hands again. “What happened that turned you into a barista, then?”

The smile only deepens, leaving lines around glittering eyes while Stone shrugs lightly. "I met a challenge, and was driven to get better."

A challenge? A challenge…Robotnik mulls that over, drawing up any bit of Stone's past that he knows to compare it to that statement. Nothing seems to come to mind that has anything to do with coffee, however. Perhaps an undercover mission he did not know about yet? Or... 

He blinks back to reality when he hears the muffled sound Stone makes. Frowning, Robotnik levels a look at the other; what exactly is so funny about-…? 

It clicks, finally, when he catches Stone's gaze; there is something about the amused, terribly fond glitter there that slots the pieces into place in the genius' mind. 

Instantly, his brow jumps up, and he scoffs in disbelief while shaking his head. "You don't mean me."

"Who else would I mean?"

"Nope, bzzzt, that’s not fooling me," the doctor declares, waving his hand dismissively to underline that. "You already had that skill when we met. The very first coffee you handed me was already leagues better than whatever brackish water they call coffee in G.U.N headquarters, or a twenty-mile radius around it."

Stone ducks his head low over his handiwork; too late to hide his grin. "Ah, see, I always wondered if you even noticed that before throwing it at me."

"That's why I threw it; I was offended by it." The moment he says it, Robotnik pauses, feeling like wrinkling his nose.  Now that he says it out loud, he involuntarily remembers those first few days back when Stone had just been assigned to him. Back then, it had felt right to put obstacles in Stone’s way at every chance he got, since he had only been out to get the newest babysitter to quit as soon as possible. But what exactly did Stone think about the entire thing?

Nobody liked to get spit full of scalding hot coffee, after all.

But to his - absolutely not relief - his surprise (there we go) Stone laughs. Laughs quietly with his shoulders shaking, at the reminder of those awful first few days. “Offended because it was good?”

“… Sure,” Robotnik answers after half a beat, smirking slowly. The other cannot be too angry at him if he is snorting like that. “How dare you serve me good coffee when I was dead set on loathing everything you did? It’s just not done, sycophant.”

“Well. Terribly sorry about that,” still grinning, Stone squeezes one eye shut while he fights to get his giggles under control, and ducks his head. “I was just trying to be useful.” 

And he was; right from day one onwards. Never stopped, either.

Relaxing slowly after that little blunder earlier, Robotnik dares to reach out and poke the other in the ribs, hard. "I retain that you can't mean me. I don't believe it."

"My coffee wasn’t bad, back then, but I never even had tried making a Frappuccino, or, worse, a latte. I only started looking into all those more elaborate options after you spit three quarters of every cup of coffee at me for a week."

The earlier reminder had only served to amuse Stone further, so maybe… careful to show his half-smirk openly, Robotnik huffs a noise that could count as displeased maybe, and intones, "Did you know, it drove me up the wall that you never even reacted when I did? I was furious with you."

It must have been the right thing to say. Stone's grin only deepens, eyes sparkling like stars. "Sorry?"

Reassured that the teasing is welcome, Robotnik delivers another poke to those ribs, just to see his sycophant grin wider. “You put a set of spare clothes somewhere in my lab, you absolute menace.”

“I was being efficient!” Laughing aloud again, Stone leans to the side before a fourth, truly painful jab can reach him. "I was just happy to be there, so I wasn't really bothered by.…"

He makes a vague gesture, a kind of movement that encompasses them and the room around them. Rolling his eyes a little to cover up his amusement, Robotnik offers, "A hostile work environment?"

"Initial difficulties,” Stone corrects without missing a beat.

What a perfectly cute way to gloss over whatever kind of mini-war they had had going for a while; chaotic anger versus unwavering determination. Chuckling darkly despite himself, Robotnik agrees with a nod. "True, if the work environment had bothered you, you wouldn’t have lasted; the hostility never changed after all."

"It didn’t?" Raising his brow, Stone looks pointedly between the two of them, where their knees bump together and the doctor is all but leaning against his shoulder.

Robotnik merely snorts and swings a hand up to slap the cheeky man over the head. "You don't work for me anymore, sycophant."

“And that’s a good thing,” Stone agrees, absolutely deadpan. “HR would have a meltdown over us, let’s be honest.”

A snort bursts out of the doctor, then a chuckle, until finally, he starts cackling, loud and uncontrolled, leaning more of his weight into the other man while he shakes with mirth. Oh, the thought alone – the faces those gasbags would make if they could see them now! The raging psychological tire fire they never could get under control in the first place, and one of their best agents, settling down into a sort of domesticity. Or spiraling out of control entirely, maybe? He doubted that whatever he and Stone were doing here while still planning to take over the world someday could really be counted as anything “conventional”. They would tear their hair out if they could see them! Or jump straight out the nearest window.

Stone lets him laugh his fill while he continues working in silence, and never moves even as Robotnik sprawls half over his back in the wake of it. The doctor blinks and angles his head around to watch the other’s hand move some more, then tilts back to watch Stone’s face. The younger man is smiling, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he carefully cuts around an especially tricky spot.

It is a quirk Robotnik has never really taken note of before; one he doubts Stone would let anyone but him see. It reminds him once again that there are many secrets he has still to uncover about his sycophant. One being presented only a bit earlier, for example.

Without moving, he nudges his shoulder against Stone’s side and asks, "So, you practiced making lattes?"

To his credit, Stone picks up the offered thread of conversation seamlessly, as if they had never talked about anything else in between. "Had to, yes." he confirms while finishing up the last few stitches, pulling the thread tight. "The latte itself I had down after you first asked for one, but the right amount of goat milk was tricky; needed the entire night to get it just right."

An entire night? Robotnik blinks, trying to recall those days from so long ago. True enough, Stone had handed him a latte on his demand made with normal cow milk, because they didn’t have anything else at the time; but already the next morning, he had arrived with the perfect latte with steamed Austrian goat milk, the balance between earthy and slightly bitter just right. He hadn’t given it any thought aside from being miffed that his newest barnacle had managed to hit his preference so quickly, but now he imagines Stone in a foreign kitchen in the middle of the night, making latte after latte to get it just right.

The thought makes his chest squeeze tight, makes him blink sharply, and he rubs his hand over his heart with a frown while he mutters, "You're an overachiever, sycophant."

"Hmmm. Maybe?” For once, Stone agrees to the accusation with merely a light shrug. He finishes something up with the needle, pulls the thread up and bites it off before finishing his sentence, "I have high standards, that's for sure.”

Holding up the cloth he had been working on, Stone shakes it once so it spills out between his raised arms; a cascade of wandered that unfolds into the approximate form of a button-down shirt that is missing the front part. Even from this angle, Robotnik’s sharp gaze can tell that the measurements are done to perfection – not only will the item accommodate his new size perfectly, the stitches are incredibly neat, the sleeve lengths even, not one line out of place.

Humming to himself, Stone turns at the waist to hold the outfit out in front of the doctor, beaming at him from over the top of it. “What do you think?”

It’s perfect, of course. The shirt could have come straight out of a fashion house. But Robotnik is barely looking at it, more entranced by the sight of Stone’s hopeful smile directed at him; those deft hands that had just tailored him an entirely new outfit as if it is nothing.

“… I can see those high standards, alright,” he manages finally, distracted while his mind races ahead once more.

Where Stone’s smile had been luminous before, it could rival the sun now. He grins so wide it must have hurt while he turns back and begins folding up the shirt carefully, holding it to his chest with all the care usually reserved for a newborn. “I will go check if the old one can be fit into this,” he announces while he stands, graceful even with his hands full. “If not, I will just sew on a new front part myself. Did you want it as a button down, or no buttons?”

“Button down sounds nice enough,” Robotnik mutters absentmindedly, fiddling with his control gloves while his gaze goes unseeing. High standards... trials and errors.... hmmm.

He shakes himself back into awareness, frowning while he pulls at his moustache once, sharply, to regain his footing. No time to sit around like this; there is a thought forming in his mind that demands to be made reality right about now.

Pushing to his feet, Robotnik checks with a surreptitious glance whether or not Stone is paying attention; to his luck, his sycophant is already distracted, digging through the drawers in their "bedroom" while he speaks animatedly with the Mini-Nik hovering at his side.

Patting the Badnik still at the ready over his workstation, Robotnik sinks back into his chair and reopens the program he had been working on earlier. The gauntlets are still hooked up and ready to be worked on; lines and lines upon carefully crafted coding, spread out for him to see as he waves it along.

Only a while ago, he had thought it all perfect. A work of art that would leave Stone speechless once he set eyes on it.

Now, though...

High standards, eh? Thoughtfully, Robotnik taps at the screens, zeroes in on data, codes, and programming. To him, there is little that could be more beautiful than his work - and based on Stone's comments about his many creations, he knows that his sycophant sees the beauty in it, too.

But it is a cold, structured beauty, Robotnik reflects, chin in hand while he frowns at the screen. Not quite unlike the question of black shirt versus red shirt they had yesterday - both look good, but one is professional and firm, and the other is the personal one. The coding he has thought up is nice, and he knows (hopes) Stone will like it but it is the more distant option. There is little personality to it, nothing soft and... what was it? Ah yes. Nothing intimate.

Stone's present for him, while not a real Valentine's gift, is the exact opposite. Handcrafted, chosen with care, to boost the doctor’s confidence. If that is not personal and intimate, then nothing is.

Ah, hell. He has only managed to overcome the first hurdle in this, Robotnik thinks with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead. He will need something more befitting the occasion, something - urgh - something cheesy, and sentimental, and probably pink and garish and in heart or flower shapes.

His reputation will never recover after this.

Stone, the things I do for you, he thinks with a growl while he pushes to his feet. He will need a dance break before he does this. But break or no break, he is already sure about one thing -

He will complain about this the entire way.

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a full night and half a day of researching, Robotnik can no longer delude himself into thinking this can all be done from his computer. For any further escapade in gift finding, he will need to leave their mobile lab slash home personally.

Not that he has not attempted to avoid having to do that, but... the internet is vast and extremely unhelpful since it does not help him narrow his options down at all. Not to mention that delivery times are impossibly long when one is travelling around in an ocean-diving mecha and has to figure out where to send it to first. Valentine's Day will have come and gone by the time he finds a fitting present and has it delivered here.

So a stealth mission it is. But first, to make sure his sycophant won't notice his absence.

Well, that is the easy part, thankfully. Stone himself had presented him with a great way to get him out of sight for a little bit. Genius plan in mind, Robotnik gets up from where he had been brooding in his chair, and walks into the middle of the Crab, calling out on the way, “Stone!”

“Over here,” drifts back to him from a corner.

Hm. Trailing after the sound like a magnetic force, Robotnik finds Stone in front of the screen they mainly use for 3D printing. Most of Stone’s focus seems to be on the variables he is putting in, but he still has the time to roll over and lean slightly towards the doctor while humming a greeting.

Robotnik does not bother to dodge but lets them collide gently, Stone’s shoulder nudging against his side, while he tries to get a good look at what the other is working on; but with the way Stone has moved in between, he is too far away to make out details. “Anything important come up?”

“Not really,” Stone denies, finishing the settings with a flourish and closing the program. “I had a vague idea for something to tinker around with and wanted to see it in reality before deciding if I really want to work with it.”

“Mh. Virtual model would not have cut it?”

“I wanted to see how it feels in my hand.” Shutting down the screen for good, Stone gets up and stretches before turning around with a smile, all his attention now on the doctor. “Was there something you needed?”

And here goes. Time to act natural.

Drumming his fingers against his crossed arm, Robotnik shrugs and starts, “You asked earlier what I want for dinner, right?”

“Yeah? Anything specific then?” Stone immediately perks up; a stark contrast to the way he had almost looked disappointed when Robotnik had lied and told him that he was not feeling hungry, earlier.

Not hungry, pffft, as if. He almost always indulges his greedy body these days, and in turn, it was basically always hungry. This entire show had just been a carefully crafted master plan to get his sycophant out of the Crab and the surrounding area for a while. And it is all playing out step for step as he had imagined. While attempting to look bored, internally Robotnik is rubbing his hands together with glee. Too easy, Stone. Affecting a slightly annoyed look, he grumbles, “Well I feel like Chinese, but… where did we stop at this time, anyway? It better be a place with a good Chinese takeout, sycophant.”

“West of the Golden Goat Bridge, currently,” Stone answers without missing a beat. With a swipe of his hand over the closest screen, he pulls up the map showing their location, letting it hover next to them. “And yes, actually! There are several places to choose from-…”

Robotnik nods as the other explains, fighting hard to keep a smirk in. He knows of course. For once, he had paid attention to everything from the point onwards where Stone had chosen their next destination right down to the reconnaissance his sycophant had done once they had arrived there. The less Stone knows about that right now, though, the better.

He interrupts the other at some point, just as he would have any other day, and flaps his hand. “Eh, I’m sure you will pick the right one.”

And as always, Stone lights up over the tiny sign of trust instead of being offended by being interrupted. His eyes glitter when he smiles crookedly, head tilted. “Okay then. Extra spring rolls?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

“Can’t hurt.”

“You just like being right,” Robotnik accuses, no longer hiding his smile when his sycophant chuckles with a shrug. “Shoo, off with you. Else I will starve before you’re back.”

“If I hurry, I could make it in-…”

“No hurrying. I know how you drive that bike; I want my food and you back in one piece, if possible.” And he wants that extra time for his own shopping trip.

Relenting with a tilt of his head, unable to argue against his penchant for fast driving, Stone turns towards the bathroom. Over his shoulder, he calls “If you’re really that hungry, there are still some cheese crackers up in the kitchen cabinet on the left side.”

“They might tide me over,” Robotnik calls back while returning to his workstation with a pointedly slow pace. “Maybe.”

He waits, listens, until he hears the bathroom door fall closed on that bright laughter and then locking with a click.

The moment it does, Robotnik dives for his chair, pulling up the data he had prepared and poured over for the past hour or so. By cross-referencing all the data his system is constantly collecting about Stone’s movement through his watch, his bike, and his helmet, he has been able to chart a map of his sycophant’s usual routes around the city down to the last detail, including distances, most visited places, estimated waiting time to pick up the takeaway and the time it took him to get there and back again. Thanks to this, Robotnik now knows for certain that the Chinese place Stone had scouted out as soon as they had arrived in the city - and deemed worthy for its quality and speed - is the one place that will take him the longest to get back from, which leaves the doctor with approximately an hour and a half to work with.

As if on cue, Stone steps out of the bathroom in his leather pants, reaching for the matching jacket and shrugging it on while he calls, “I should be back in ninety minutes, give or take.”

“One minute error margin!” Robotnik bellows back while he shoves the map away and pulls up something less suspicious, just to be extra sure.

There is the distinct sound of Stone slipping into his booths and clicking the helmet off the hook on the wall, almost drowned out by his snappy “Yessir!”

Biting down hard on the grin that wants to spring to his lips, Robotnik flicks him the bird over his shoulder, eliciting another round of chuckles in his back.

From there on out, it is only a matter of waiting. Something the mad genius does not exactly excel at, but he can endure for the few minutes needed. For the duration, he pretends to be entirely engrossed in his many screens while Stone gets ready, even going as far as barely answering when the other calls a goodbye.

Once the Crab has opened its gate and closed it behind the man, Robotnik begins a mental countdown, watching the readings of Stone‘s gear. Any moment now the bike‘s engine will start - there it is, right on time - and Stone will drive off into the city. He watches the blinking dot on the map move further and further away from the Crab, until he deems it a „safe“ distance, and nods. Go time.

Wasting no time, Robotnik rises to his feet and hurries over to the drawers where they stash their clothing. Going out in the slovenly look he has taken a liking to while streaming is entirely out of the question of course, but he couldn’t have changed outfits earlier since it could have led to questions. In a stroke of his usual genius, he had prepared accordingly; his entire outfit lies at the ready in the lowest drawer when he pulls it out, and he hurries to put it on. Time is of the essence. He needs to be done with his errands and back in the Crab before Stone returns, after all.

The disguise he had settled on is simple, but sometimes simple is best. A pair of loose enough trousers, old sneakers which might have belonged to Stone once, and a hoodie his sycophant had bought more as a trial, but then be delighted when the doctor had actually deemed it cozy enough to wear regularly. Drawing up the hood and combining it with a baseball cap pilfered from Stone's pile and his own sunglasses, Robotnik leans over the nearest blank screen to squint at his blurry reflection. With the getup and the longer hair and moustache... yes, perfect. Nobody who knew him before would recognize him like this. He is good to go.

Slipping on a light jacket to finish up the ensemble, he whistles for the Mini-Nik and holds open the jacket so it can dive into its inner pocket. Zipping himself back up, he pats the purring little machine snuggled into his chest once, before setting out.

They have a lot on their plate, and very little time to finish it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mall Robotnik had selected carefully for this operation is in easy walking distance; no more than a good twelve minutes for one way. Hopefully, that will leave him with more than enough time to get there, pick one or several fitting gift options, and be back long before Stone is even halfway on the way back.

Those rather hopeful thoughts are scattered to all four winds the moment the doctor sets foot into the air-conditioned shopping center.

The place is a barrage of unpleasant sensations of varying kinds from everywhere all at once. There are way too many people, more than he had even dreaded, filling the entrance hall to such a degree he has to immediately step around a huge group of them in order to not touch anyone even the slightest bit. Air condition has been turned up far too high, making it seem as if he had stepped foot into a walk-in freezer.

And the noise.

Robotnik physically recoils from the barrage of it, wrinkling his nose and pressing a hand to his temple. Alright, he had never liked too much overlapping sources of sound, especially not when the major part of it was the inane rambling and chatter of crowds, but this? This is ridiculous. Perhaps he could have understood the noise the bustling amoebas around him make – no, that’s a lie, he couldn’t – but to add fuel to the fire, there is also the music; sickeningly sweet tunes crooning out of every nook and every shop.

And it is not even the same song simultaneously from all places; no, they let the whole thing grow into a cacophony of unpleasantness.

Robotnik realizes that he has frozen in place not even two steps into the mall, but he really cannot help it. Every fiber in his body screams at him to turn on his heels and stalk back out - and perhaps send the Badniks over to do some cleaning around here; preferably with fire. How does Stone do this, handling all this rubbish every single time he leaves the Crab? There is no way to dodge this as soon as a man wanted to do some regular grocery shopping!

But then, his sycophant has always been good at hiding his own misgivings behind a pleasant mask and blend into the masses of regular people as if he belonged there. Something that could even fool a genius from time to time.

Well. Robotnik might not have any such talents himself, but in exchange, he has the tenacity of a predator biting down on its prey’s throat. He survived a hostile planet for eight months; surely he can endure this much smaller hell for half an hour or so. In, grab something simple, back out. Easy even for an imbecile.

Now if only he knew what, exactly, he is looking for.

Because therein lies the one fault in his brilliant, amazing plan, Robotnik admits with a grimace while forcing himself to start walking. He has no clue what he is hoping to find here. For all his brainstorming and careful planning, internet research and cross-referencing with Ultima Passion, his gains are shockingly meager. It is barely more than what he had figured out on day one: Common themes of the blasted holiday include cards, flowers, chocolates and other gifts.

That does not exactly narrow it down, the genius gripes internally while casting a dark glare around at the dozens of displays of exactly that.

Alright Ivo, think. He has – watch check – still seventy minutes until Stone is due to return. Minus the way back and some amount of time if Stone ignores his warnings and totally floors it on the way back, then that leaves him with forty, maybe thirty-five minutes to find presents. That should be enough, right?

Maybe. If not for the general disgust he is experiencing at every second inside this shrill hell of glittery, garish madness.

Already, he wants to fucking leave.

There is a beep and something wriggles against his chest, a warm pressure settling closer there. Sighing quietly, Robotnik pats his chest pocket blindly, hoping to calm the Mini-Nik before his rising blood pressure can rile it up further. “I know, I know, I will endure.”

It is the truth, he tells himself. For Stone, he can.

With a steadying breath, he casts a glance around and tries to figure out what his first stop would be. Chocolates are safe, right, he decides with a glance at a bakery selling chocolates he spots tucked in between two other shops. Nothing can go possibly wrong with a box of chocolates; nice, simple and tasty. A classic for a reason. And he knows for a fact that Stone likes chocolate: Prefers the dark ones, enjoys a hint of coffee or alcohol in them, but sees the later as indulgences he does not permit himself often.

And, very important, he hands half the coffee ones to Robotnik anyway without being prompted.

So chocolate is an absolute must in this gift package of his. It will probably smooth out whatever mistakes the doctor might make with the rest of it.

But then, maybe he should leave the easier things for last, Robotnik decides, turning away from the bakery. He will first use his time to find something to go along with those chocolates, then it will be easier to pair it all up.

Next on his list full of holes would be flowers, but… Robotnik stops walking in front of a flower shop, carefully dodging around a group of cooing females while he eyes the colorful assortments lining the window display with a healthy amount of disdain. There is certainly something to those colors – he does like a bit of flashiness and a splash of color here and there but... Is this not a bit too short-lived? The bouquets will last maybe two days. Three, if they air out the Crab accordingly and leave the gate open for some sunlight once in a while. But then that is it, and those soft petals will rot away.

Reaching over, he plucks one of the flowers when no one is looking and twirls it between long fingers while he studies it. A daisy. Small and dainty, nice to look at but fragile. Won’t something that wilts away send a wrong signal of some kind? This entire Holiday is about symbolism, right? So what symbol could a rotting little flower possibly be but “It was nice while it lasted, but now it’s gone”?

No. Absolutely not, the doctor decides with a sneer, flicking the little flower out of his hand to the ground. Their relationship it is everything but that. They are only here in the first place because Stone’s tenacity had been able to withstand the burning, destructive force that is Ivo Robotnik; because they had managed to stick out any and all catastrophes thrown their way together and only grown from it. Their story cannot be equatted with something that is destined to wither away someday. Not now, not ever.

With that in mind, Robotnik ditches the beautiful bouquets without a glance back and ambles deeper into the shop, fighting a gagging noise down as he does. The place is crowded with interested customers and chattering sales personnel; almost unbearable humanity all around. Perhaps he should have skipped the shop entirely based on his earlier observation, but he cannot shake the thought that a flower of some kind would still be… nice.

Which has nothing to do with all those roses he has seen on La Última Pasión reruns, alright. Nor with the fact that he thinks the red roses would look good in Stone’s hand.

It is just to stay in theme with the holiday.

Then perhaps something sturdier than a bouquet, he muses while eyeing some potted plants on a shelf. Perhaps not those options though; the flowers would have the same problems as before – the Crab did not lend itself to taking care of greenery.

He passes another shelf full of cacti, and barely manages to cover a snort with a cough to avoid drawing attention. Alright, maybe Stone would find it funny to get something prickly as a present – Robotnik can already imagine the comparisons to his own person he would have to endure. But while that thought does not bother him too much, it still stands to reason that this is not the soft and intimate thing he was hoping for when coming here. His sycophant has to deal often enough with prickliness, he does not need more of it.

A bonsai, per chance? Robotnik stops in front of one, tilting his head thoughtfully while he reads a set of instructions pinned to its shelf. He could see Stone taking perfect care of it, cutting it to a good size, watering it. The plant would thrive in the gentle care of his sycophant. But that sounds like a lot of work; and of that, Stone has also enough already. Rejected – next!

Only that, well. There is not really a lot of next left, is there. Robotnik bites back a growl while he stops back at the shop entrance, crossing his arms. A full turn around the shop, a look over every shelf, and nothing has managed to impress him.

The idea of burning down this whole joint is looking more and more appealing.

Grinding his teeth, he casts his gaze around in search of something he could have missed in here. Backing out of his first stop without finding anything feels too much like admitting defeat; at this point, he would even take something that could just serve as inspiration.

A pair pushes past him, chatting animatedly over a flower the male part of the two is putting behind the ear of his lady love while she giggles daintily. So busy are they that they do not notice how the man’s elbow brushes against the mad genius next to him; nor how very close to getting incinerated they really got for that offense alone.

Staring after them while working his jaw, Robotnik reminds himself that he cannot commit a murder in public space while trying to lay low; if he has to explain why they have to relocate all of a sudden, Stone will get suspicious…

While he is fighting down the urge to press a very distinct command into his gloves, he turns back around. Stops mid turn, frozen in place. Turns back and stares at the bucket his gaze had skipped over before.

Fake flowers? What is that, pray tell?

Intrigued now, he wanderes over to pluck one of the flowers from the bucket they have been stuffed haphazardly into. These facsimile of plants are apparently made of a form of stiff fabric, he muses while turning it, raising it close to his face. Fabric and some thin wire for the stem perhaps? They are cheap, fraying at the edges which earns them a scoff from the genius, but still… there is some merit in the idea. Robotnik tugs at the plant's leaves carefully while he thinks, testing the bend and texture between his fingers. The flowers are of low quality because lowly material had been used, but the cut, the form… and they are long-lasting, too. Require no maintenance and are still pretty to look at...

A glance at the price tag tells him that one of those tacky little things will cost him two dollars, which he can just about deal with. He stuffs the one he is holding back into the bulk and plucks one of the red ones – obviously – before stalking over to the register with it, slamming it down alongside the requested money.

Obviously Stone will never have to set eyes on an item of such low quality, Robotnik muses while he waits to be rung up. But using this as a base, he can easily create something just like it, only much better, by himself. The more he thinks about it, the more appeal the idea has for him. Yes, perfect; it will be handmade, adorable and a tiny bit corny. He really nailed it with this one! Way to go!

Not even bothering to answer when the salesclerk asks if he will need a bag for that (seriously? Low life), Robotnik snaps around on his heels and stalks out of the shop, tucking his first treasure into the inner pocket of his jacket, next to the purring little Mini-Nik.

That is step one done. Perhaps this whole endeavor will not be as difficult as he had anticipated at all! Figures that he would get the hang of it quick; he is a a genius after all.

With a new spring in his step, he marches through the entrance hall of the mall, gaze flicking left and right over the rest of what is on offer. So that makes the flowers, and the obvious chocolates – according to his resesarch, the next most common thing would be a Valentine’s card. There is not even any need to write one, as they come in a huge variety of preprinted wishes for the recipient. Surely that will be child’s play.

He follows the obvious of throngs of people leaving a certain shop armed with cards and other knick knack. Entering with his head ducked low against the glare of too many bright lights and glittery decorations, Robotnik dodges shrieking children, yapping old crones and barking dogs to wander deeper into the labyrinth aisles; gaze casting left and right to find something promising. There are wildly differing items on some shelves – tea cups, small plushies, keychains – but he quickly dismisses them with a scoff. Not what he needs.

Two more corners, and he finds what he is looking for. And immediately regrets it.

With a hiss, Robotnik stops in his tracks, looking left and right. The shelves on both sides are overflowing with cards; big and small, glittery and flashy, pink and red and white with very few other colors sprinkled in between. Oh great. Great. He will have to dig through all of that, huh.

He should have packed rations and a coffee to go for this blasted-…! Argh!

Swallowing down some truly creative curses, the doctor reaches for the closest card on his right, bending it back so he can read the writing on it.

Will you be my Valentine? – followed by a heart being shot through by an arrow.

Immediately, his expression curls as if he has tasted curdled milk. No. Just, no. What are they, teenagers?! Next!

You are my universe – set inside a horribly inaccurate rocket. Over the top much?

I love you furever – with a dog on the front. Spelling errors are not welcome on his gifts, thank you very much!

Unlike the toilet paper, my love for you will never run out – okay. Now they are just getting absolutely tasteless.

He continues on down the aisle, meticulously pulling card after card out to read it. Every single one is either scoffed or gagged at before he shoves it back with more force than necessary. No, no, no! To all of them! Why is there not a single one that manages to capture-…!

Well. He does not really know what there is to capture with one single short message on a card, but he knows for sure it is not any of this!

Reaching the middle of the right hand shelf, he snaps back around, fingers flexing angrily at his side. This does not seem to work. There is no rhyme or reason in those gaudy little things that he can discern. Heck, some of them are not even meant for… for.. partners? Boss-employers? Sycophants and geniuses?

… Damn it, now he is getting distracted again! Sometimes he regrets not letting Stone choose a label for them; at least the other man would probably have an idea.

Raising a hand trembling with stress, Robotnik nearly knocks his basecap off when he attempts to run it through his hair. In general, he wishes Stone was here right now. He feels utterly lost in this, and his sycophant has a natural talent of letting things make sense, simply by offering a different perspective. A little input would be nice right about now…

“Excuse me?”

With a shout, Robotnik startles out of his ruminating, jumping half a foot into the air when someone speaks up right in front to him.

The young woman who had spoken blinks up at him nearly as startled, her pleasant smile dropping into a wide-eyed look of confusion at his shriek. “Oh, I’m sorry – I thought you had seen me coming!”

“Well obviously not!” The doctor snaps back, pressing a hand to his racing heart and the worriedly beeping Mini-Nik both while he tries to catch his breath. “Gah, what is it with you people sneaking up on unsuspecting geniuses?!”

“Um,” the girl blinks again, fairly dimwitted in his humble opinion, and raises her hands as if in a placating gesture. “Sorry. I only wanted to ask if I can help you find something?”

Still attempting to catch his breath, Robotnik eyes the girl darkly. Judging by the name tag reading Alex and the uniform, he surmises that she must work here; one of those annoying customer service niceties then. Any other time, he would have barked at her to not waste his time by so much as looking at him, much less speaking to him, but… well.

Had he not just admitted to himself that he has not really a good idea where to start here?

Straightening up to his full height and brushing himself down, tragically aware that it is lacking the commanding air the gesture once did, he clears his throat; waves a hand at the aisles around them. “What would you recommend out of this whole...?"

“This whole…?” The girl’s eyebrows jump a little when she looks around them, assessing the cards. When nothing more comes forth, she turns back around towards him. “Well… is there something specific you are looking for?"

What an inane question. To both of their benefit, he will simply assume that this imbecile is aware us that he is here for a card , at least. Barely biting down on an insult in that direction, Robotnik reaches over and plucks a relatively simple card from its display. It immediately leaves a smear of glitter on his gloves and he pulls a face when he holds it up for emphasis. "It should be something less of... this."

For a moment, he thinks that her gaze lingers a beat too long on his control gloves. Then the moment passes, and she blinks up at him, looking torn between confused and amused. "You mean less glitter?"

"Less of everything, really."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, sir."

Oh for th e love of-… he feels like screaming. Now he has to explain things to imbeciles on top of everything?! This day is getting worse and worse.

Trying his very best to summon whatever tiny amount of patience he has for idiots, Robotnik breaths out slowly through his nose. In, out. It is just one conversation; it is just one card. Stone will be happy about it.

Much calmer but still speaking through his teeth, he waves the card at everything down the aisle, ignoring how even more glitter rains down on his shoe. "I am trying to narrow down this utter mess to find something that could actually be well received. Is there any order in all this?"

"Well, there are sections for who you want to gift it to, for example." Expression brightening, young Alex politely points ahead so he will follow while she walks over to the left hand shelf. With practiced movements, she pushes the cards in one section aside to unveil a tag reading “Family” that he had skipped over entirely in his search. "For example, these are the cards for family members; there are some for children for example, or parents, or grandparents-…"

Before he can help it, Robotnik makes a gagging sound in the back of his throat. His question has been answered, the day can get worse. Family . Bleh . He will have the bad taste of that word in his mouth for the rest of the day without even having spoken it. Bleugh.

“Okay, not that one, then.” Picking up on his darkening expression immediately, the young woman nods and takes two steps to the side. “Then – friends, maybe? They do have less glitter and, well, less decoration in general."

Friends, huh. Not quite right, but... Robotnik tugs thoughtfully at his moustache while he eyes the card the sales clerk is holding out. It is much less offensive than the rest of the utter mess around them, blue instead of the glaring pinks and reds, no glitter. Promising, but... no. Wrong message.

He shakes his head with a dismissive grunt.

“Okay then…” putting her find back, Alex turns on her heel and marches ahead again. Stopping in front of a collection of cards he had ignored entirely because of the gaudy decorations of most, she gestures at the whole lot of them and explains, "Then these here are the cards for, well - Girlfriends, boyfriends, wife or husband, life partner… really, whatever you need."

That is half of the shelf! Much less than before, but still way too much. Eyeing the display with a twist of his lips, Robotnik huffs a sigh and mutters darkly into his moustache, "Why is there never something for sycophants.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing.” Oops. Forgotten that he had still an audience. Flapping a hand at the girl without really looking, he declares, “This is the right shelf; I can take it from here."

It is a dismissal, or at least it should have clearly been one. However, the young sales clerk does not leave immediately; she hovers next to him for a beat, before finally reaching past him and pointing down a certain section that his gaze had skipped over. “Um, when you’re looking for something for a boyfriend, maybe try that part.”

Now. Hold on.

He had never said anything like that.

With a speed and grace that belie his heavier frame, Robotnik snaps around, fixing the girl with the kind of stare over the edges of his sunglasses that had once frozen seasoned military commanders in their tracks out of fear. He only barely stops himself from grabbing her so she cannot possibly escape when he hisses, low as a breath, “What. Did you just say?”

For the first time, young Alex does not look faintly amused in front of him; she seems to be frozen, eyes wide while she stares up at him like the proverbial mouse in front of the snake. “I – I just thought - Because of the too much glitter? That it’s not for a woman?”

That might have have sounded reasonable, if not for the fact that now that he is actually paying attention to her and her behavior, he notes that she is showing a little bit too much interest in him and his search. “You are staring at me.” He draws himself up and closer; he might not be as impressive to look at as he once was, but he still has his height and aura going for him, especially when he is starting to get angry. He tilts his head as he eyes the girl; a snake ready to strike. “Not that I expect much around here, but staring seems to be against the common rules of politeness, last time I bothered to check.”

“I’m-… I’m really very sorry, sir.” The clerk stammers, swaying backwards in place but not daring to step or look away. “It’s just that -…”

“Yes?”

“- you, um. Honestly, you seemed a bit familiar to me, is all. I was trying to figure out from where.”

… That’s it? Still suspicious of course, but the longer Robotnik stares the girl down, the less he is convinced that she is trying to lie to him. She looks clearly worried and a little embarrassed, and unless she is a better actor than even his sycophant, then the feelings are genuine. And considering that he looks nothing like he did in his time with the government, he highly doubts that she is someone from his past.

Deciding that he can always rain down retribution down on whoever is stupid enough to send a teenager after him should it come down to it, Robotnik pulls up straight, crossing his arms while he scoffs with an eyeroll. “Hardly. I’m not from around here.”

He can hear the relieved sigh the girl emits before she scratches the back of her head. “Yes, I kno – I mean. I’m very sorry, it was rude of me to stare.”

“Very.” And if even he says that, then it is really telling. Dismissing the little miscreant as unimportant now that he is no longer under the impression she might know something, he turns back around and waves her away in one go. “Now, if you would go and be u-...seless, somewhere else; I’m busy here.”

This time, the girl does not hesitate to take her hasty leave, clearly glad to get away from him now. She turns and hurries away down the aisle. She is almost at the corner and out of sight when she calls over her shoulder “I hope your sycophant will like the card!”

His head snaps back around, mouth falling open to say or ask something – but by that time, the girl is already gone again.

… Well. Apparently on top of a somewhat slightly brighter mind then the common rabble, the girl also had damned sharp ears. Must have caught his earlier muttering. But that is not really important right now.

Turning back around and immediately deleting the little interaction from his mind, Robotnik focuses back on the task at hand.

Now then. What does Stone like, exactly? Well, he likes working for him - or, working together with him would be more accurate, by now. Or… living with him? Spending time together?

Oh this is already getting confusing again - changing thought processes!

Stone likes many things, Robotnik decides. Big things, small things; important ones as well entirely inane ones the genius originally would never even have paid attention to, but found himself doing anyway because Stone did. He likes coffee for example; his go-to is a espresso with two pieces of sugar, but if he needs a pick me up, he will make it a cappuccino extra cacao powder. Technology is a hobby of his, even when he is not the inventor out of the two of them. He adores the Badniks, especially the Mini-Nik, which has become a sort of pet-child for him. His motorcycle is his pride and joy, and he loves the thrill of racing at top speed a bit too much for Robotnik's liking. He likes things neat and orderly, but excels at working in chaotic environments just as much.

He likes sunsets and sunrises, but gets even more excited about stargazing, drawing the constellations with his hand while he explains the story behind them to an amused Robontik. Breakfast in bed is an indulgence he has taken a fancy to ever since trying it once in Paris. Despite, or because, of his former lifestyle that had left no room for it, he adores anything that is soft and cute and adorable; adores innocence. Leather and metal have their uses for him, but if given half the chance, Stone would always chose something soft and cozy over them any day; there is a reason why his side of the wardrobe is full of thick, fuzzy socks and cozy sweaters after all, and it is only half because he lets Robotnik share the things whenever he wants. He likes quaint little cafes, and walks; prefers softer music over fast and hard beats, but can dance to either...

A pair of children races past in Robotnik’s back, screaming over a toy or other that the older brother had stolen or something. It startles the doctor back out of his reminiscing and he blinks fast, rubbing his fingers together. Weeell . That had been… a lot. To his surprise, he has retainrd more unimportant data about Stone than he had ever consciously noticed. Which only proves that he has an amazing storage capacity and a top notch observation skills, of course!

But nothing out of this really helps here, does it? He ponders it all with a deep frown. It is not like he can wrap up sunrises for Stone, or pluck the stars down for him to view whenever he wants. He might be a genius, but he is (rarely) delusional. Sure, he can give him all the tech he could ever want or need, but does his sycophant not already have all of that?

Goddammit. What is he supposed to do here, bring Stone a coffee to go with his name written on the cup and call that a new form of Valentine's card?!

Some genius you are, you old fool, can’t even figure out what you're assistant sla s h partner of ten years could p ossibly like....!

Oh this is ridiculous! Giving up, he slaps the card he had just picked up absentmindedly back into the shelf so hard it knocks half a dozen others loose. Just about ready to upend the entire shelf, maybe the next one over as well, then remembering that he can’t, he swears under his breath. Presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and bends to pick up the cards he had just knocked down.

He is scrapping them together haphazardly and about to shove them back into some free space when his gaze lands on the card that is left alone in its section.

… Huh. Could that be…?

Almost in disbelief that he might be lucky for once, Robotnik drops his load blindly onto the shelf and instead reaches for the card, picking it up carefully. It does look a bit silly, he reflects while turning it, a bit childish, even. But at least it is not full of glitter, is not pink, and there are no sickeningly sweet love declarations on them. It is a simple pun, one he can actually appreciate somewhat. And it shows something they both like.

After casting a quick glance around to ensure he is still alone in the aisle, the doctor unzips his jacket and whistles quietly.

Instantly, the Mini-Nik in his pocket wiggles to the top, chirping happily at him in greeting.

"What do you think, Baby? Is your Daddy going to like this?" Robotnik mutters under his breath, tucking the card into close so the drone can scan it. It might be ridiculous, no, he knows it is – the Badniks cannot actually think about whether or not something is aesthetically pleasing; he did not program them that way. But he is going out on a limb here on what Stone might like or not, and he will accept even a vote of confidence from his own machines; he trusts them more than humans, anyway.

The scan completes and the little drone chirps again, wriggling happily against his chest.

He will just take that as agreement, Robotnik decides on a huff. "Agreed; it's not perfect, but it has potential."

He shoots a disdainful look around at the rest of the shop. "At least more than the rest of this dump."

Pushing the Mini-Nik back into his pocket gently and closing his jacket, he directs his steps towards the register.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wrapping up his purchase takes little time, and only minutes later, Robotnik is back out of the shop, taking a deep breath. It is till too loud, too full, too people-y around here, but at least he has made some progress. If he can get some passable chocolates as well now, he should be set.

Tracing his steps back towards the chocolatier he had spotted at the beginning, the doctor squints at the shop for a beat - teeming with people, ugh. Nothing for it; into the breach it is.

Robotnik mimes taking and holding in a deep breath as if submerging before entering the shop, and for good reason; it is more packed than any of the other shops. There are groups of two, three, four people in front of every single display, and a flood of voices and smells assault him. His expression curdles and he grits his teeth so hard they clink under the force, but he pushes through it.

Carefully picking his way along the displays, he lets his gaze travel along the assortment of sweets. Anything too small is immediately ruled out – a lot can be said about him, but not that he settles for anything mediocre. He will only accept the absolute best option. Heart and animal shapes fall under the same censoring – too cutesy.

Finally, he finds an assortment of boxes with tiny chocolates which seems promising to him. Wandering up and down the aisle, he singles out the largest boxes, and then picks one up to read the content’s description. Anything that has coffee, marzipan or a shot of alcohol in it will do, he decides, gaze flitting along the lists.

Thankfully, those criteria are easily met. One of the biggest boxes meets all of his checkpoints, and he turns it, searching for a price tag…

Only to freeze, eyes nearly bulging out of his skull, when he finally finds it.

“How - much?!” Robotnik nearly shrieks, managing to wrangle it down into a startled squawk halfway through. Ignoring the dirty looks some of the patrons give him, he tugs at his moustache while glaring down at the box in his hand. The price is triple what he had expected, and completely overpriced. There is barely enough chocolates in there to last more than three days, why should he have to pay a small fortune for each single one?

Unbelievable. Unacceptable! He is this close to smashing the box back into the display with enough force to shatter the glass surface.

He had been right when he had accused the holiday to be merely a farce played up by chocolatiers and flower shops to make more money, he reminds himself with grit teeth; the box in his hand nearly squashed under the force he is exerting on it in his anger.

Sure, he is out and about to do this for Stone, and he will not stop now when he is so close to his goal. But if they think they can extort him, well… they got another thing coming.

Ducking his head, Robotnik whistles lowly. Time for a favor, baby.

Immediately, there is squirming in his breast pocket, and the Mini-Nik pops up over the edge of his jacket’s collar, blinking slowly at him.

With a quick tap against his gloves and a parting pat to the little drone’s chassis with his index finger, he sends it down low and off towards the entrace to the shop.

While it is on its way, Robotnik flicks open his wrist screen, leaning against a pillar to get somewhat comfortable all the while. Fingers flying over the commands, he locates the mall's network and connects to it. Two more commands, and a trojan nestles deeply into the foreign network, beginning to open it up from the inside.

It takes the genius not eben two minutes to force his way from the public network, down into the private one behind it, and from there take control over the entirety of thr mall's eletronics. It is so laughably easy that Robotnik actually clacks his tongue in annoyance- really? This is what they call a security around here? His setup on the Mushroom Planet had been more secure than this.

With an idle flick of his finger, he opens up the circuits connected to the detectors posotioned at every Shopss entrance, rotating and pushing it around. Aha. Just as he had thought, the entire thing is so simplistic it is a true embarrassment. All he needs to do is push a little here, tweak a little there... copy the entire thing a few times...

With a hum, he types in two lines of code, wraps them into a little package, and sends it down the virtual highway between his network and the circuits. Almost at the same time, he sends another command towards the Mini-Nik, and watches from under his lashes as the tiny drone darts towards the ceiling at highspeed.

Unhurried, he tucks the package of chocolates under his arm while he meanders down the displays as if looking for something, slowly but surely making his way towards the door again.

And th r ee... two... one....

The moment Robtoniks reaches the door and, simultaneously, zero, all hell breaks loose. Every single anti-theft device in every single shop starts up an alarm at the same time, even those nobody had even been remotely close to. A second later, all the stereo in the building switch over from their jaunty or crooning love songs towards one and the same song, blasting it at full volume from all directions at once.

While the chaos is still sinking in for the apes all around him, eliciting gasps and first shrieks, Robotnik hears the screen at his wrist beep twice when the Mini-Nik reports back a success. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he slips the box of chocolates he had been holding into his jacket and tugs it closed around himself...

... just as the Mini-Nik finishes its job of heating up the sensors in the sprinkler system above their heads, causing it to explode and start a deluge.

A cacophony of screams and shrieks and swears erupt all around Robotnik as on top of all the noise and confusion, the sprinklers turns on at full power, quickly soaking everyone who was unlucky enough to be in the entrance hall of the mall.

The evil genius is unbothered as he ducks past a few imbeciles sprinting by; bypassing the already shrieking detectors easily. Wrapped up all cozy in his sweater, protected by a base-cap and the awnings of the shop displays, he marches down the mall with long steps – unbothered by the chaos, a grin on his lips and humming along to the beat of Where Evil grows that is booming out of every corner.

In the general chaos, nobody takes notice of the tiny drone darting down the hall with a happy thrill, nor the lone man sweeping out of the mall with his jacket flaring briefly behind him, back straight and head held high.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Robotnik turns into the little nondescript pier they had docked the Crab at, he hears the familiar roar of an engine drawing closer.

Whatever kind of triumph had still lingered after that little mischief earlier, it goes out the window and falls into the sea to his right with a great old splash. With a curse, he lengthens his steps until he is nearly running, fishing for the key to the crab in his pocket. Damn damn damn! He should still have at least fifteen minutes left to spare! Why did Stone always have to be so quick and efficient at everything he did?! Couldn’t he just take it easy for once?!

As if. Who am I kidding?! Robotnik mutters a colorful curse in six different languages flowing together while he taps his foot impatiently, waiting for his Mecha to surface out of the harbor in front of him. He barely waits until the gate has started opening before he dives through it into their living space, already scrambling to command it closed behind him again.

The landing is less than a graceful one, and had there been witnesses, he would have have to shoot them down to destroy evidence. As it is, he merely grinds his teeth and untangles his feet from each other while he takes a huge gulping breath – god, he is out of form! – and scrambles to find some kind of hiding place. The gifts he had acquired are small and inconspicuous, but “small” can also be attributed to the Crab’s entire living space. Where would be a good spot to store the stuff until the next day? Where would Stone not look?

Aware that he has barely more than five minutes until his partner will be back, Robotnik – well. He hates to admit it, but he has to say it: He panics.

His first mad dash takes him towards the bathroom, before he stops in front of it. Decides no, no way; and turns back around to dart for the kitchen instead. There are chocolates among his haul, so a place that is cooled down would be good…

He crosses over to the kitchen with long steps, meanwhile hurrying to shrug out of his jacket and the slightly damp sweater beneath. Balling up both and throwing them all the way to the bed, he comes to a sliding halt in front of the fridge. Only a quick grip to the handle stops him from falling over in his haste when he rips it open and peeks Inside.

Top shelf, full of yogurt, pudding and fruit. Too obvious, maybe? The second shelf…

Robotnik frowns, rearing back in surprise when something flits in front of him with a shrill beep and begins to attempt to push him back a bit. “What the-…”

The Mini-Nik beeps again, long and high, and begins zipping back and forth in front of the open fridge, nudging his hand away every time he tries to reach past it.

“Shoo!” He tells the little drone on a hiss, nudging it aside with the back of his hand. Whatever it is, he does not have time for it right now. “What has gotten into you-…?!”

Still hampered because the Mini-Nik keeps trying to get in the way, Robotnik manages to glance around it into the fridge, considering his options; it probably won’t be a good idea to store the box in the top shelves where Stone will see immediately. He had thought on the lower level would be fine, but those are occupied too, so maybe-…

About to straighten back up and close the fridge to go look for a better hiding spot, Robotnik hesitates when his gaze lands on the lowest shelf. It seems to be the one the Mini-Nik is trying to keep him away from, for whatever reason. On first glance it had seemed empty but now when he looks again… There is a whole pile of pure chocolate pars pushed towards the very back. Not exactly a spot he checks very often; had he not bent down in his hectic search, he would have missed it entirely.

Since when do we have that much chocolate ? Robotnik muses absentmindedly, frowning. He remembers quite clearly calling for Stone to put something sweet on the grocery list only yesterday evening, and Stone hadn’t pointed out that they still had chocolate…?

Next to him, the Mini-Nik beeps, and makes one more heroic attempt to shove its creator away from the fridge by throwing itself at him with its entire weight.

It bounces off his head harmlessly as a fly, but it does get the point across quite well.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Robotnik hisses, unsure if he should be annoyed or start laughing. “What are you acting out for, anyway? Did you think I will eat all of the chocolate or what? Strange thing.”

Of course there is no answer, but he can guess that he is right just fine. Since they had talked about adding that delicious chocolate cake to their menu more often, the chocolate is probably there for the same reason. And the Mini-Nik is apparently dead set on protecting the goods.

Eh. Not important right now, anyway, Robotnik thinks with a shake of his head, slamming the fridge closed.

By the time he reaches his workstation on the other side of the Crab, he hears the tell-tale double beep of the key being activated. Damn damn damn . Stone is back, and he still has not found a good hiding spot. Think, genius. Somewhere Stone won’t look and somewhere cool...

His gaze lands on one of the Badniks resting on his desk, and he snaps his fingers. Why had he not thought of it sooner?!

With a flick of his hand, the Bandik he had remodelled into a microwave awakens with a quiet chirp and floats up and towards him. Typing in a quick sequence of commands, Robotnik changes its setting from “heating” to “cooling” and as soon as the drone opens its cover, he shoves the entirety of his purchases into the limited space. Carefully.

There. Made it without crumpling anything.

Sending the drone back to its port, he looks down himself, thankfully sees nothing out of the ordinary, and veritably throws himself into his chair.

That it does not immediately tilt back with him inside it is only because he manages to grab onto his desk for stability. Barely.

Behind him, the hydraulic of the Crab goes thunk thunk as the gate opens a second time, and Stone’s cheerful voice rings out, “Delivery!”

“About time!” Robotnik yells back – and immediately starts coughing. Shit. More out of breath from chasing around the mecha than he had thought.

“Oh!” There is the rustle of plastic backs being dropped followed by boots hammering on the metal floor, and a second later Stone is there, stabilizing the hacking doctor with one hand while clapping against his back with the other carefully. “Alright?”

“Dry… throat,” Robotnik wheezes out with a wave of his hand, gasping for breath.

“Wait, I will get you something to drink.”

While the display is frankly humiliating and he will stew over it for hours after, it might just convince Stone that the only reason he is gasping and red in the face is because of the coughing.

Stone returns in record time, handing him a glass of water while reaching out to smooth a hand over his shoulder comfortingly.

While he gulps down the water greedily, Robotnik eyes his partner. A hint of sweat at his temples, a flush in his cheeks...the doctor puts his glass aside and clicks his tongue. "You were speeding again, huh."

Stone's face betrays no shame when he shrugs. "Doctor, motorcycles are made to be driven fast."

"And you're an adrenaline junkie," he grumbles, amused despite himself. Waving whatever retort the other has away with a half-smirk, he changes tack. "Did you get everything?"

"Yes - oh, of course; you must be hungry," Stone straightens and turns, calling over his shoulder while he walks away, "I hope you will like this; the restaurant is supposed to be best around here-.."

Which is why he had chosen it in the first place, yes. Fighting down anything that could show on his face, Robotnik nods while he gets up, trailing after his talking sycophant. While they go, he lets his gaze flick left and right, keeping bis eyes open for any evidence he could have left behind which would betray his own little shopping trip.

When he reaches the kitchen and has not spotted anything, he allows himself to relax. Maybe he can actually pull this off.

Stoneis digging through the plastic abgs he had brought, unpacking one takeaway container after the other while pointing out what is in each of them. The extra springrolls he immediately pushes towards the doctor with a smile and a wink.

He has not even shrugged out of his jacket, Robotnik notes with an amused eyeroll, too busy again with taking care of everything. Reaching over, he tugs at the collar of Stone's leather jacket - then presses his other hand between the man's shoulderblades to keep him still when he attempts to turn around. "Just getting your jacket, sycophant."

"Oh," Stone sounds startled before he relaxes, moving his arms up to help. "Thanks."

"Hm." Pulling the item free, Robotnik glances at the shirt beneath - not a bullet proof one, he will have to make more of those – before turning away. With the liberated jacket over his arm, he walks over to the bed to put it down there.

While he is there, he quickly bends and grabs his sweater and shoes out from under there. Tucking them behind bis back while he gets back up, he calls out "Still time for a bathroom break?"

"Hm? Oh, yes," Stone answers, distracted. "I'm plating this first, anyway."

Perfect. Grunting an agreement, Robotnik ducks into their little bathroom, locking it behind himself. While in there, he stuffs the wet clothes to the very bottom of the laundry basket, then turns the water on while he takes a quick look at himself in the mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary to see. Satisfied, he turns back around and leaves the bathroom again.

Efficient as always, Stone has already arranged the plates on one of the mobile little tables and pushed it all over to the couch. He is flipping through the channels to the latest episode of Última Pasión when Robotnik comes over, and looks up with a quicksilver smile. "Dinner is ready."

"Smells delicious."

Getting comfortable in little space together has by now become second nature to them. There is no shuffling around or awkwardness as they settle in, Stone upright against the backrest and Robotnik slouching over the armrest with his legs kicked up over the other’s lap.

The doctor waits exactly for half a an episode and three quarters of his delicious szechuan beef before he drops, as casual as one can be, “Sycophant?”

“Mh?” Stone tilts his head over immediately, cheek still puffed out with the fried rice he had been eating with slow relish.

Ignoring the strange lurge in his chest at the sight, Robotnik focuses on keeping his words even, almost bored. “Those fabrics you bought. How much of that do you still need?”

He shovels another bite in his mouth, gaze pointedly fixed on the screen while he mumbles around it. “I have a project in mind that would require some material to cut up for testing, and the cloth should do just fine.”

There is a brief pause where the show drones on unnoticed. Then the cutlery clinks when Stone puts his fork down and leans forward to put his plate on the table, turning his head towards the tense genius with a slight frown. “Is it the sewing machine?”

What? It takes Robotnik a beat to remember what his sycophant is talking about. Once he does, he nearly laughs in relief. So Stone had caught on that he is planning something, but drawn the wrong conclusion. Fighting back a grin, he manages a slightly shaky, “No.”

The frown on Stone’s face eases, but it is clear that he does not quite believe it. There is a reprimand in the way he raises an eyebrow, fond exasperation in the tilt of his lips when he shakes his head. “I told you I don’t mind sewing the new outfits myself.”

“What. Here I am, making your life easier for once, and you don’t even appreciate it?” With a flourish, Robotnik throws his plate over onto the table. This way, he has his hands free to press one to his chest in dramatic indignation to really drive his point home. “The nerve.”

“Of course I appreciate it,” Stone answers without missing a beat, mirth glittering in his eyes at the antics. “But you really don’t need to give me anything.”

“Who says I’m doing it for you? It’s pure selfishness.” With a click of his tongue, the doctor shrugs the unfounded accusation off entirely."A sewing machine has never been among my work before, so it is a challenge to occupy myself with. Maybe I can make a fully automated one. Or turn it into Badnik that is able to switch between simple household chores like sewing and a battle-oriented mode freely. Imagine the possibilities, sycophant."

Of course all of that is utter nonsense - although once he rattles it all off unprompted, some of these points do have merit. But none of it had even crossed his mind before this little conversation. Well, nobody can say that he is not good at improvising!

"... Alright." It actually seems to work, since Stone inclines his head in a nod after a beat of thinking; then he makes to get up. "I won't need all of the fabric, I think. How much do you need?"

Oho, nope – that hadn’t been the plan. Quick as a snake, Robotnik shoots up and snatches his sycophant’s arm, pulling him back down before he can get far."Not much. And sit back down; I will get it myself later."

“Oh, okay,” Obedient as always – or often, at least – Stone lets himself be guided back, landing closer than before. Their arms knock together briefly, and the younger man hesitates, reaching over again to run a careful hand down the doctor’s upper arm. “You feel cold; should I go fetch your robe?”

At the touch, Robotnik does feel goosebumps ripple down his arm, but it has little to do with the temperature. It is pretty cool in the Crab today, the environment changing a bit when they are submerged; but it hadn’t bothered him until his attention had been drawn to it. Still though… “I just said you can stay seated, sycophant. A little cold won’t kill me.”

“Alright…” Stone does not look very convinced, but also like he does not want to argue. Still, the way he wrinkles his nose could almost be categorized as a pout when he eyes the hair standing on end on the doctor’s arm and mutters, “We should put down more blankets around the place.”

“Do you really want to buy useless little knickknacks with our hard-earned streaming money?” Only half serious, the genius snorts and shakes his head. “A robe will suffice.”

Stone hums slowly. It does not sound doubtful, but rather… amused? He casts a quick, linger glance at Robotnik from the corner of his eyes, then looks back to the screen again.

Oh, now hold on , Robotnik thinks, straightening a bit. He knows that look; last time he had seen it, he had ended up being measured for a new shirt. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, he pulls his leg back in a way that lets him nudge at Stone’s thigh with his toes. "If you tell me you can sew blankets now, I will kick you off this couch."

"Oh, no, I can't."

"Small mercies!" Robotnik exclaims with dramatic flair… and then pauses, eyes narrowing again , when he sees the corner of Stone’s mouth twitch with suppressed laughter. “Sycophant, don’t you dare tell me-…”

"I can crochet one, though,” Stone interrupts, tone light and innocent.

"… Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" With an almost offended shriek that ends in a bark of laughter, Robotnik pulls his legs back and then does as he said: He pushes a laughing Stone off the couch with his foot.

While his partner more rolls than falls off the furniture, gracefully landing on his feet, the doctor shakes his fist at him. "And you say you're not an overachiever?! Give me a big, fat break! You're like a horrible chimera-offspring of Mary Poppins and James Bond!"

After spluttering briefly at the comparison, Stone’s grin stretches and he throws his head back on a startled bark of laughter, bright and ringing. Chuckling still, he chokes out, "Was the horrible really necessary?"

"Yes!" Because he is, Robotnik decides, even though he is cackling himself now; horribly annoying, horribly perfect, horribly disarming . The other’s laughter is enough to shake him down to his very core, make him dizzy. Hating and loving it at the same time, he swears loudly through his guffaws and throws himself around to grab for Stone clumsily. "Come back here and apologize for being disgustingly perfect, right now!"

“What does that even mean?... Wait, you’re the one who kicked me off-…” Stone protests but does nothing to resist being reeled in. He stumbles over their tangled legs and basically falls onto the couch and his partner, barely catching himself on his elbows with an oomph.

They had not collided, no bruises acquired, but Robotnik can basically see the apology forming on his sycophant’s tongue anyway. With a fond eyeroll, he grabs Stone’s chin and hauls him in the last inch, giving that tongue a better job to do when he claims that smiling mouth with his own.

With a shuddering breath out through his nose, Stone melts immediately, returning the kiss with the same eagerness.

For a small, extremely pleasurable eternity they stay wrapped up like this, food and show forgotten in favor of getting lost in each other. Hands wander without a hurry, grasping onto clothes and hair, stroking and holding before leaving for a previously unexplored spot again; legs tangle as they get more comfortable. Mouths glide together, teeth nipping and tongue stroking in a caress over the sting after.

But even geniuses and trained agents need air sometimes, so as enjoyable as it all is, they have to separate at one point. Pulling back with a huff of disappointment, Robotnik leans away far enough that he can take Stone’s face in… and grins immediately, wolfish and sharp. His curious hands have thoroughly ruined whatever collected facade the younger man had still upheld: Stone’s hair is standing on end, collar hanging oddly crooked where hands had dipped beneath, his face flushed and lips swollen as he blinks down at the genius dazedly.

Not so perfect now, huh , Robotnik thinks – and then immediately frowns, noticing that it is a lie. He likes that look. Dammit. So much for rumpling up the perfection.

The pause is long enough that Stone, dazed or not, raises a brow, smiling a little crookedly in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” Robotnik assures immediately. To prove his point, he leans up quickly, pressing a quick peck to those parted lips before dropping back down with a huff. “Getting a crick in my neck.”

“Ah, sorry.” Sounding only a little sorry for it, Stone laughs quietly. Instead of leaning down once more, he lets himself fall onto his right elbow and from there to the doctor’s side so they are basically lying next to each other, only that his head is resting on the genius’ shoulder and their legs are hanging off the couch.

Not ideal, but still more comfortable, Robotnik acquiesces with a grunt. Blindly, he moves his arm up to throw it over and around Stone to assure it won’t get squished. With his free hand, he angles for his abandoned plate and pulls it over.

The sight off the food makes him pause, a memory stirring in the back of his mind. With a shrug, he loads up a forkful and shoves it into his mouth, muttering around it, “So, when are you making that cake?”

A long beat passes before Stone’s brows furrow and he leans his head back to look at him as if he had asked something ridiculous. “What?”

He must have been more transfixed by Ultima Pasion than the doctor had anticipated. Forgiving the slipup, Robotnik waves his fork around for emphasis while he repeats, “The cake?”

“I heard you; but what cake?”

There is still no understanding dawning on Stone’s face. Really? Must have been the lack of oxygen from all the kissing that is messing with his head. Snorting for real now, the genius flicks at the other’s forehead. “The chocolate cake. Come on, there is enough chocolate in the fridge to feed an army, sycophant.”

“Oh-... oh, the chocolate!” A veritable light bulb goes on over Stone’s head and he laughs, sounding a little strangled. With a sheepish grin, he scratches the back of his head. “You saw that, huh.”

“I-…” Now it is Robotnik’s turn to flounder a bit, spluttering. Oh darn, how to explain what he had been looking for in there? Wait, does he even he even have to explain this? It’s his fridge, too! Deciding that he does not, in fact, have to explain anything, he sits up a bit and crosses his arms haughtily. “Well, it was hardly miss-able.”

“Ah, yes, well.” The scratching intensifies, further messing up Stone’s hair. He looks flushed for a whole other reason now when he coughs slightly, muttering, “I thought, tomorrow maybe? Baking the cake, I mean.”

Yes, obviously he means baking the cake. What else would they be talking about? Hell, why is Stone acting all flustered over this, Robotnik wonders with a grumble. He hates when he does not understand, and especial l y when he does not understand the whims of his partner. It is just a cake, why would Stone be bothered that he had seen and noticed…

Then it clicks, and the genius huffs an absolutely not relieved snort. Ah, he had overlooked the most obvious solution: The cake had been supposed to be a surprise! And now Stone was embarrassed because he had been caught red-handed.

Well, that was a small mistake, and entirely forgivable.

“If you wanted to surprised me with something, you need to be more careful, Stone. I’m a genius after all.” He nudges the still flustered man with his shoulder while he reassures him gruffly. "There is no smuggling a cake past me."

“...Obviously, huh.” There is still embarrassment tinging Stone’s smile, but he is relaxing again slowly; head coming to rest Robotnik’s shoulder once more. “It’s hard to get something past you.”

Satisfied that they are in agreement about that, the doctor pulls his unnecessarily high strung sycophant closer while he settles in more comfortably and grumbles. “Hm. You’re forgiven.”

A quiet laugh answers from his side and he feels himself smile in answer.

They fall quiet after that, comfortable in the silence and each other’s company, thoughts of cakes and surprises forgotten for the time being. Soon, Robotnik is back to observing his favorite show, finishing his meal on one side, and rubbing mindless circles into Stone’s shoulder on the other.

The warm weigh pressing into him works much better than any blanket could, anyway, he surmises with a half-smile.

Chapter Text

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After an extremely pleasurable dinner and after-dinner show, it had been back to work for Robotnik. He had – well, not excused himself, but he had loudly announced that he would finalize his preparations for the Valentine’s stream before marching off. That basically counted as the same thing.

As far as he could see, Stone had not caught on that this was not about streaming at all. His sycophant had smiled pleasantly after him, wishing him success, before returning to the kitchen to clean up and pack the leftovers away.

With the target of his gift giving so distracted, Robotnik had immediately dove into work. The fabric was easily acquired and to his delight, the wine red and forest green would work perfectly for the rose he had in mind. He did not cut it off immediately, hesitating a little bit over it – he could work with this, yes, but perhaps… the fabric feels so soft in his fingers. There is no doubt in his mind that soft is something that fits Stone very well, that looks good on him. But what about the longevity of the present? Would fabric and wire not rot away at some point?

Perhaps something more sturdy, Robotnik wonders while slowly letting go. Something he is much more familiar with, like trusty metal, gleaming alloy, welded tight to hold for eternity and never break or stain. He could draw up the blueprints right now, make a model of it, and program the Badniks to take care of the welding. It could easily be done until the morning, since it was only a relatively small item. He tries to imagine it: A gleaming metal rose, hard and unbending, infinite. Beauty frozen in time.

But as he does, he imagines it in Stone’s hand; imagines how cold and hard to the touch it would feel. Unwelcoming. Unapproachable.

Attributes which many assigned to the doctor himself.

The moment the thought crosses Robotnik’s mind, he shakes his head and discards all half-formed plans of a metal rose. No, no. That would be something that could work for him; but Stone deserves soft and beautiful both. Decision made, he grabs both bolts of fabric and carries them with him to his workstation.

The next hours fly away from him without him noticing; he is much too wrapped up in his attempts to create something perfect, simple yet meaningful, sturdy yet soft. He starts over several times, never quite satisfied with his plans, never reaching that perfection he is aiming for.

It is a good thing, honestly, that Stone is occupied in the kitchen for quite a while. Robotnik wouldn’t even have heard him coming, between his work and the music he has on in the background.

It is down to pure luck that the doctor is working on something entirely i nsuspicious when his sycophant appears next to him to offer him a latte. And the only reason why Robotnik does not scream this time is mostly because he is still half absorbed In his work – uploading the finalized commands to the Badniks – when he whips around to stare up at Stone. “What? Did you say something?”

“I said I will go to bed,” Stone repeats readily, entirely used to not being heard when the genius is working so hard. “Just in case you need a latte refill, there is a thermos of it in the kitchen.”

Frowning uncomprehendingly for a beat, Robotnik blinks and turns around completely to face the other. “You? Going to sleep already? It is only - “ ah, he has not checked his clock in a while, but the Crab has not switched into Night Mode yet, so, “-… well, way earlier than your usual.”

“I plan to get up early tomorrow,” the smile on Stone’s face does not waver. “There are some final adjustments to your outfit that I would rather make when I have gotten enough sleep. And if I am up early enough, I might even have time left to make that chocolate cake before stream starts.”

“Oh, well.” That does make sense; and it is good to hear that Stone is not going to bed early because he is not feeling well, or something along those lines. Satisfied with the explanation, Robotnik nods and reaches for his headset, switching his music over to it instead. “I will miss the latte deliveries, but I will endure. Get enough rest, sycophant.”

“Thank you, doctor. Don’t work too long, you need your rest too.”

Unbidden, a bark of laughter spills out of the doctor, and he stops midmotion before he can put his headset on. Sending his partner a smile that shows all teeth, he rolls his eyes at him. “When did that ever work on me, Stone? You know my sleeping schedule; it’s fucked up beyond recognition. It hardly counts as a sleep anything .”

For a moment, Stone hovers, half turned to go, expression caught between surprise and amusement. Then it tips entirely into amused fondness, and he turns back around. “I also know that it has gotten better.”

… Well true that. But leave a man to his vices now and then, okay? Especially when I’m working on a gift for you, Robotnik does not say, but he rolls his eyes again, very meaningfully. “Lucky coincidences; don’t get used to it.”

“Coincidences,” Stone repeats flatly. The corner of his mouth is twitching. “Every night, for several weeks? That are a lot of coincidences.”

“When measured up against the years of an unhealthy sleep schedule, those nights are like blips on a radar. There and gone again.”

“Mh-m.” The smile spreads, drawing one side of Stone’s lips up into something that comes dangerously close to a smirk. While Robotnik is still processing that sudden change of expression from perfectly pleasant sycophant to dangerous agent, the younger man has already stepped closer, leaning in so he is essentially caging in the genius in his chair. Especially when he puts his hands onto the armrests left and right like he does now.

If this is an intimidation tactic, it is a bad one, Robotnik decides. He has never been intimidated by his sycophant; why would he, when all that danger is a weapon that he is allowed to handle and point at targets as he sees fit? He is only very intrigued when he raises his chin to meet Stone’s sparkling gaze with his own. “Do you doubt my words, Stone?”

“A little,” Stone admits, his smirk only widening when he gets an indignant noise for his bravery. “You see, I am pretty sure that your more regular sleeping schedule had something to do with me.”

“Oho! Flattering yourself a bit much, aren’t you?”

“Am I? I’m using science to come to that conclusion, you know. Unlike you.” This time, Stone does not even let him finish his indignant splutter before he continues, still smiling, “Observation and evidence, for example. Or are you going to tell me that it is also a coincidence that your sleep has gone from roughly two hours per night, to nearly seven, ever since we started sharing a bed?”

Science? Well, excuse you - science is his main subject, not Stone's. Scoffing, Robotnik draws himself up straight, unwittingly bringing them so close together the tips of their noses brush. " Funny , sycophant. But you are missing the fact that we shared a bed for a total amount that is much longer than a few weeks in the course of our years of working together. And that did nothing for my sleeping schedule."

"Mhm. We did," Stone agrees easily. He makes no attempts to put distance between them again. "But not like this, right? This is different."

There is something about the way that the simple word different rolls of the man's tongue that makes the hair on the doctor's neck rise. Ignoring it to the best of his abilities, he points out, " Different is a highly unscientific term. Try harder."

He knows the moment he says it that he has walked into a trap. Stone's eyes, half-lidded and creased with amusement, nearly glow with mirth when he grins even wider. "Oh, sorry; let me try that again."

Before Robotnik can decide if it would be better to put a stop to this, it is already too late. Stone’s hands slide further up the armrest as he leans in, having to angle his head to the side to manage it at all. Whatever little bit of distance still between them evaporates for good when the younger man presses their cheeks together, speaking directly into Robotnik’s left ear on a low rumble, "I meant that now, I get to hold you while we sleep."

Ah . There is the trap; not science, not sharp insulting words are what is being thrown his way, but this. Tenderness . Something he has very little defenses against. Robotnik nearly backs away, then realizes he cannot. He is the one with his back to the wall (chair) this time, not Stone. Which was probably the plan from the very start. A smirk twitches around his formerly slack lips despite himself. Oh, damn you, you scheming little -

"I get to card my hand through your hair,” Stone interrupts his beginning thoughts neatly. To make his point, he lifts his right hand to do exactly as he says; burying it in the hair Robotnik has been growing out and carding gently through it, careful to avoid snagging on it. Just enough pressure to scratch gently along the scalp beneath with blunt fingernails.

The doctor’s jaw nearly creaks from the force with which he grinds his teeth together, eye twitching while he fights the urge to let his eyelids flutter closed. He is not going to melt into the touch, no matter if his brain is turning to mush already. No encouragement of cheeky behavior in this mecha, thank you very much.

Deft fingers lift from his head, nearly making him sigh in relief because he just barely managed to remain stoic during it… then Stone’s hand is back, settling warm and secure over the doctor’s perpetually stiff neck. Kneading circles into it before stroking lower, then coming back up, all while Stone narrates his doing on a whisper, "Massage out those knots and stroke your back.”

Now that is cheating, Robotnik almost says; but the words trip on his tongue and he only manages a deep sigh while his head lolls forward, forehead meeting Stone’s shoulder hard as his resistance is stripped away one stroke after the other. The tiny massages are something they had started weeks ago, every night before falling asleep. It had started with simple neck rubs, then progressed down to working out at least the kinks in his shoulders. They had slowly been working up to the point where for the genius would feel more comfortable with the idea of having to strip out of his shirt and allow a full massage. By now, weeks in, his body is basically trained to melt under the attention, and whatever kind of tension he had managed to uphold goes out the window fast. His formerly tightly closed jaw goes lax, unbidden allowing Robotnik to wheeze out, “Oh you – do not play fair, sycophant.”

“I learned from the best.”

Hah! Well, he is the best, so that is a compliment as well as a statement. Only that he had never used physical touch to get what he wants. Or, well – not really. Caging in the other bodily or yanking him around isn’t the same, is it?… Actually, it might be?

Oh hell, this might actually be payback , Robotnik has to admit with a grimace.

But even as he thinks it, indignant as they come, he cannot bring himself to pull away. Instead, almost on instinct, his head turns and he presses his face against Stone's neck, searching out the thrum of his heartbeat there.

A deep breath raises the chest in front of him, and Stone's voice is near unbearably fond when he adds. "Almost forgot the best one: You can listen to my heartbeat."

... Ah. He had not even realized that Stone had noticed that habit. He had always made sure to only do it when he had thought his sycophant deep asleep already. Once upon a time, Stone would have least had the good grace not to bring that up so directly.

The thought makes Robotnik laugh, raspy and breathless. “Trying to manipulate me like that… When exactly did you get so cheeky, Stone?”

“Oh, don’t know.” A warm laugh threads into Stone’s voice; just a hint of awe. He turns his head enough that he can press his lips against the temple of the smartest man alive, unheeding of the wild hair in his way. “Once you started letting me get away with it, probably.”

Oh, right. He had done that; had, at some point or other, begun to overlook more and more of Stone’s retorts and backtalk. Then smirked at them. And finally, begun to listen to them. In a way, this is all his own doing.

Well, in that case, he is also the one who can stop it again.

With a truly herculean effort, Robotnik scraps together whatever rational thought he can still form and sits up with a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He can tell that he has surprised Stone by the way the younger has to jolt back to avoid them knocking their heads together at the sudden move.

Breathing a little faster than usual, the doctor runs a haphazard hand through his hair and clears his throat while he gathers himself. "So your hypothesis is that physical closeness between us solves insomnia," he reiterates in the calmest tone he can possibly manage. Which, given that his voice is a whole lot weaker than usual, is probably not entirely convincing. "You will have to present me with scientific evidence to make me believe that. If you can, that is."

Briefly, he manages to catch Stone off-guard; evident in the way his sycophant’s smile falls and he blinks fast as if re-calibrating. It makes him smirk in beginning triumph.

The sight of it seems to be what shakes Stone out of his stupor, and the man snorts quietly, shaking his head with a raised brow. “And you think that I have absolutely no influence on whether or not you get enough sleep.”

“Absolutely none.” Robotnik agrees, smirking right back while he wags a finger at the other. “Which, by the way, was never your job. You just made it that way.”

For a beat, Stone’s expression softens, eyes growing warm. “Of course I did. Because I care.”

Oh that is - worse even then planting all these imagines in his head. That is a low blow! They are bantering right now; it is entirely unfair of Stone to use real sentiment during such an exchange. It leaves Robotnik reeling for a moment too long, mind blank while his mouth hangs open around the pre-prepared and now useless argument.

It is that one tiny moment of weakness that Stone pounces on. With a knowing glitter in his eyes, he leans in the last little distance, crowding the speechless genius in further, their chests almost but not quite touching and his lips once more ghosting against a burning-red earlobe when he asks lowly, “So, what you’re telling me is that… it wouldn’t help when I ask you nicely to come to bed with me? ”

If the earlier had been a low blow, then this must have been the killing blow. Before he can stop it, Robotnik feels his chest expand with a deep breath, then halting when he cannot breath out again; that drop in Stone’s voice… just enough to make it sound like a a request he is hoping will be met. A quiet plea.

And, dammit all, but at some point, Robotnik had developed a Pavlovian response to pleas from Stone. It is not like his sycophant asks a lot of him – quite the opposite. He never does, which borders on frustrating more often than not. So when he does, when he asks for something, there is an immediate knee jerk reaction from the doctor’s side to give it to him immediately .

Especially when it is something they both want, Robotnik thinks hotly – and the heat is only half from annoyance; he might be stubborn, and blind to his own feelings more often than not, but yes, he does know that sleeping wrapped up in Stone’s tight embraces is what makes him find sleep easily these days. He has only been playing the denial up for the thrill of the back and forth with his sycophant, and because he likes winning those. And now… now there are images in his mind; filling him with a quiet longing to get exactly what Stone is proposing here. The warmth, the holding, the feeling of safe, secure, held and being cared for…

Temptation incarnate.

He closes his eyes while he fights to remember why he planned to keep working right now. The present. It is all about getting finished in time without being seen doing it. When Stone is asleep would be the perfect time to do it…

But maybe… if he woke up early tomorrow, he could finish it then? It is a small project in comparison to others; he is used to working on tight schedules. And Stone is right there , much more inviting than hours spent in front of screens and wondering if he is doing alright in this whole relationship business...

The truth? Robotnik would have given in, right then. Would have gotten up and followed his damned convincing sycophant to bed with only a bit of a grumble.

He is only saved by the bell – or, in this case, a Badnik beeping at him from the side, requesting his attention.

They both startle apart, heads snapping around as one to stare at the beeping drone.

It is Robotnik who reacts first; clapping his hands firmly, he announces a tad too loudly: “Well then, looks like we have to cut this little study session short for today! As you can see, I’m still a bit busy over here, so.”

A myriad of emotions flicker over Stone’s face in rapid succession, going from surprise to annoyance to disappointment, before he lets his head hang with a quiet sigh. Straightening up again, releasing the doctor entirely, he steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “If you’re sure-…”

“Quite. Absolutely,” Robotnik answers immediately. He has always been quite good at ignoring what a smaller, hopeful part of his mind is trying to tell him, overriding it with sheer willpower. “But I’m not stopping you from getting your beauty sleep. So, goodnight, sycophant.”

Another sigh, and a half-hearted smile as Stone leans in a last time and presses a quick, barely there kiss to the top of his head. “Goodnight doctor.”

He does not point out again to take it easy before turning, which is… absolutely not bad, of course. Nope. Not at all.

Dithering in place, Robotnik does not immediately turn back around to his work as he had intended, but rather remains frozen in place, his gaze following Stone back to their bedroom.

Anyone else might have missed it, but he knows the slumped line of Stone’s shoulders; the almost but quite miss-able way he does not hold his head quite as high as usual.

Real disappointment. Tucked carefully under several layers of perfectly upkept posture, but shimmering through the cracks anyway.

Despite himself, Robotnik feels his smirk weaken marginally. For a moment, it had seemed like he had won their little round, but now… He shoots a quick glance between his work, and his retreating sycophant, and tries to estimate a time frame. If he took the risk of letting the Badniks work while he slept, then maybe…

But could he live with it if he woke up tomorrow and the present was not perfect on first glance?

Well, he rather thinks he can always adjust it accordingly in the morning. What he cannot adjust is the way Stone seems to sag under whatever is on his mind right now.

Oh for… Pavlovian response , Robotnik reminds himself, rubbing his forehead. Damned strong thing, that.

Decision made, he turns around and calls after his sycophant, “Stone.”

“Yes?” The answer is immediate, and Stone snaps back around as if expecting to be given an order or something.

A half-smile tugging at his lips, Robotnik waves at his work with a huff. “This won’t keep me up all night long. So I better not find you hogging my side of the bed when I come over.”

A slow blink, surprise flickering in the edges of Stone’s face – then a warm grins spreads over his face and he ducks his head, clearing his throat; it does not quite hide the chuckle. “I would never, of course.”

“Eh. I will make sure of that myself,” the genius teases back. “Now, off with you. The sooner you leave me in peace, the sooner I get this finished.”

“Of course, doctor.” With a last firm nod, Stone turns to go to bed for good, leaving the genius to his important work.

A quick check assures Robotnik that for once, he had done alright in this relationship business: There is a spring in Stone’s steps, his spine just a tad straighter than before. Even with his smiling face turned away, his much better mood is clear as day.

Alright then. Much more content now, Robotnik turns around to his work with a hum, waving the Badniks over for a last test before he gives them their work to do.

At least now, he knows he has a reward waiting for him once he is finished here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning comes much too early and too abruptly for the sleep deprived genius. One moment he is deep asleep, and the next moment he is awake, staring unseeingly at the ceiling above.

He does not even have to look at any clock to know that it is an ungodly time of too early to be awake; he can feel it in every fiber of his body. So instead of checking in the first place, Robontik grabs his pillow and slams it over his face, rolling to his side with an annoyed grunt to try and find sleep once more.

But of course, his ever working mind would not let him, now that it had begun to whirl again. In rapid succession and far too clearly for a man still half asleep, different new information slams into him: The warmth of his pillow contrasting with the coolness where his blanket had slipped away. The lack of warmth at his back, where another body should have been.

The clinking and humming from the direction of the kitchen.

With an unhappy huff, Robotnik throws one hand behind himself to pat at the mattress there. Ice cold; meaning Stone had gotten up ages ago already and probably gotten busy immediately.

Dreading what he would see, he pushes the pillow down enough that he can squint at the clock on the night table, and immediately smothers a line of Spanish swears against the fabric. Half seven in the morning?! He had gone to bed at two in the morning, finally satisfied with the fake rose by then. That still makes four hours of sleep, but he had gotten used to more than that, lately.

And he had gotten especially used to having a trusty barnacle wrapped around him.

Who, by the way, is now missing.

Deciding that this could not stand, early hour or not, Robotnik throws himself around and begins untangling himself to the best of his abilities. Attempting to spruss himself up in this state is unthinkable, so he simply pats his wild hair into shape and grasps for a par of thick socks to put on, before he rolls straight out of bed.

As predicted, he spots Stone easily – hard not to, when they live in a one-room Mecha. His sycophant is indeed standing in the kitchen, his apron on and whisking away at something in a bowl with practiced ease. The Mini-Nik is circling around his head like a tiny moon orbiting its planet, chirping a cheerful melody in tune with Stone’s movements as if encouraging him.

The sight of it is a familiar one by now, but it does not mean that Robotnik cannot still appreciate it. He eases closer as quietly as he can, leaning with his hip against the counter behind Stone. With a focus so intense it should have burned, he commits every detail of it to his eidetic memory: The way the younger man sways in place to the melody he and the drone had set, bare foot tapping as he hums along. The bunch of muscles in back and arms that the tshirt does nothing to hide. The way the apron is bound with perfect bow instead of a simple knot.

Sometimes, the doctor amuses himself with the thought that someone else – anyone else – might see Stone like this and think him harmless. The idea of showing them the sheer deadliness hidden beneath that innocent look is always an entertaining daydream to the manic genius.

Pushing off the counter, he wanders around it and sidles up to Stone, pushing against the younger’s left side until he can lean half on him, his chin on his shoulder. “How long have you been up?”

“Good morning,” Stone greets almost at the same time, then chuckles when he realizes he has talked over his question. “Sorry; I think, two hours? Give or take.”

“Two hours,” with a dramatic groan, Robotnik snakes an arm around the other’s waist while he buries his face in that firm shoulder. “No wonder the bed was cold.”

The laughter intensifies, vibrating through them both. “Oh, sorry. I left you my blanket, though.”

“Not the same.” A bit annoyed, the doctor angles his head so he can glance into the bowl Stone is slaving over. “Breakfast?”

“Cake,” the other corrects him.

“Could also be breakfast.”

“No.”

“Mother hen.”

Stone does not so much as argue back, simply shrugs with a half smile. “You need it for your stream, don’t you?”

Well not really, the genius grumps quietly. He hadn’t even thought about the stream yet; he is still rebooting here. Deciding that he can very well use Stone as a charging station while he does just that, he lets more of his weight fall against the other, going near limp.

Stone does not protest the sudden weight redistribution and continues on with his work as if nothing has changed. Seeing that as an invitation to stay, Robotnik lets his eyes fall half closed while he reorganizes his slowly booting mind.

For a while, he simply watches the monotonous motions of Stone finishing with the whisking and pouring the batter into a baking tin; the repeated appearance of the Mini-Nik in his field of vision. Once he is a bit more aware, Robotnik begins to focus more on the time and what it means.These days, he starts stream no earlier than lunch time, so there is still plenty of time to get ready and – well.

To give Stone his gifts.

He does not let the jittery feeling in his belly take hold. Instead, he shakes his head firmly and blinks down at the batter once more curiously, calculating rapidly. “You didn’t take two hours for the cake, did you?”

“No,” Stone answers without missing a beat; there is a smile playing around his lips.

Hmmmm. Then where was the need in getting up so early? From under his lashes, Robotnik glances around the Crab as well as he can in his position. There is nothing suspicious he can spot on first glance; the place is nearly spotless except for the unmade bed he had just left. No other utensils or ingredients in the kitchen except the bowl full of batter. And also, no wine red fabric.

“You finished the shirt?” He hazards a guess. There had been a throw away comment about that yesterday evening, had there not?

It seems to be the right thing to say, since his sycophant veritable lights up and straightens so abruptly to turn around towards him that Robotnik has to retreat from his cozy spot with a snort so he doesn’t fall.

“Oh, sorry – But yes, I finished just a bit ago!" Stone is beaming as he says it, eyes alight with oride. "I put it in the bathroom. If you want to try it on now, I would love to get some feedback."

Hmmm. In Robotnik's mind, there is no doubt that a trial run is entirely unnecessary; Stone has taken the measurements perfectly, he is sure of it. Which means that Stone is probably just hoping for a fashion show before the actual stream.

Which usually would be cause for amusement, maybe a little teasing, but now.... now, Robotnik hesitates for a beat. He does not doubt Stone's abilities as a tailor, but perhaps his own ability to wear the tailored clothes to their full potential.

"Doctor?"

The question snaps him out of his stupor. Blinking fast, Robotnik focuses back on the present and on Stone, who is watching him with his head cocked to the side, a frown on his face.

Uh oh . He knows that look. Time to get his head into the game, and fast, before the worry takes hold entirely.

“Well!” Robotnik says perhaps a tiny bit too loudly, clapping his hands while he strides towards the bathroom. “I better go and check out if you did a good job with it then, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Doctor-…”

Whatever Stone had been about to say, be it worried, comforting or reassuring, is cut off neatly when Robotnik slams the bathroom door behind himself with more force than strictly necessary.

As an afterthought, he snaps the lock closed on top of it. He has the distinct sense that Stone could and would kick the door down if he really wanted to follow him, but – he had to at least make it a bit more difficult for him, right.

Nodding decisively to himself, Robotnik snaps around on his heels and straightens up, letting his gaze stray around the bathroom. The space is not exactly large, so if the shirt is here -

Ah yes. He spots the by now familiar wine red color almost immediately; a neat little square on the dresser next to the shower.

He would never admit it of course, but… the genius hesitates over the cloth, fingers hovering by not quite touching. It is folded so tightly, it looks downright tiny, and that thought already sends a stab of unease through him. It does not seem like a good start for this.

… Ah, but damn it. He cannot back out now. There is not doubt that Stone is downright hovering behind that door, waiting for his judgement on his work, and he cannot step out of here without the shirt on, now.

With an unhappy grunt, he slaps his own cheeks – pull yourself together – and then begins stripping out of the threadbare shirt he had picked to sleep in this night.

He is careful to keep his back to the mirror above the sink while he wrestles with the clothing, throws it to the ground, and then turns back around to his... present. Yes, because that is what it is, Robotnik decides while he lifts the square carefully from its resting place. Might be that Stone had not intended it as such, had seen this only as yet another part of his usual job around the Crab, but to the doctor, there is no doubt that this is to be counted as a gift to him personally.

This better turn out somewhat okay, he grouses while unfolding it all carefully, stroking it out with one hand while the silky material spills over his fingers. He does not want to think of the face Stone will make when he manages to rip the thing up because he is too... large.

He hurries to put it all on without looking at either himself, nor the shirt, too closely while he goes. He does not want to see the two individually – one flabby and pale, the other a work of art; no he only wants to see if he can pull off wesaring it somewhat adequately.

The first thing that makes him relax a bit is the fact that the fabric does not stretch or tighten uncomfortably once his left arm slips into the sleeve. That had been something that had bothered him as soon as he had started to gain weight, that the material would creak and groan when he moved, or worse, pinch uncomfortably. Here, this does not seem to be a problem at all; the fabric slides over his skin soft as a feather, settling in perfectly.

A bit more heartened now, Robotnik shrugs the other side on, noting with pleasure how even now, there is no sense of discomfort as he shakes it over both shoulders and begins buttoning it up in the front. Relaxes in small increments whenever a button slides into the designated hole without a hitch, and the dreaded moment of tight-unpleasant-wrong never comes.

It seems to… fit, he allows himself to admit once he has done up all the buttons from bottom to top. As a test, he lifts both arms to the side, then turns at the waist a little.

He can move just fine, can breathe just fine. He feels… actually comfortable.

With one steadying breath, he turns around fully and faces his reflection in the mirror.

What he sees nearly knocks the air out of his lungs, but not in a bad way.

Not at all in a bad way.

The wine red color suits him; that much had been expected, seeing that red has always been his color. But the material and the cut… now that is a revelation. The fabric is silken-soft yet sturdy, and gleams a little in the light when he turns half to the side. The shirt hugs him close all around, but it is not restricting or revealing like Robotnik had been fretting about. Instead, it hugs pleasantly tight around his arms and shoukders, bringing out the broadness and slight muscle there; around the chest it loosens up, giving him enough room to breath and showing a hint of chest hair above the color. And around his middle...

Strangely awed, he turns back and forth in front of the mirror, almost greedy for it now, craning his head to see well. The shirt does nothing to hide that he has gained weight; it is not cut wide and fluttery to conceal anything. It falls just right to show what is there, without digging in deeply and making the chubby parts more prominent by making all the flab around his belly more prominent. All in all, it is quite snug yet comfortable.

It feels a bit like being hugged does, he marvels, safe and tight but not restrictive. And it looks… It looks...

The doctor runs a finger down the rows of buttons; notes that they are gold, not dark red, like the old ones had been, so they had been replaced, too. Under his fingertips, he feels the texture of a tiny carvings, and when he squints down at it, he notices a faint vine engraving on each button, ending in a rose carving.

It is a nice touch, for a nice shirt. No, he corrects himself, not nice. It looks good .

He looks good.

Robotnik actually looks good, even like – like this – and he can see it for himself.

Before he can help it, a bark of startled laughter tumbles out of his mouth. It echoes in the limited space around him, and he bites his lips right after. But even that does nothing to hide the smile that is slowly spreading over his face, or the lump forming in his throat.

“Damn, you look good,” he tells his reflection. For once, it actually smirks back at him.

There is a knock on the door, almost timid. "Doctor? Everything alright in there?"

"Fine!' He calls back, pulling a face when he feels and hears his voice crack around the syllable. Damn . Hopefully Stone hadn't-...

But of course he had heard. Immediately, the younger man's voice comes from closer by, sounding apologetic now. "If something does not fit right, I can still make changes; we should have enough time for it."

The worry there is so obvious even through a layer of wood, it somehow manages to loosen the strange knot in the doctor’s throat, replacing it with fond exasperation. He is wearing a masterpiece that fits him like a glove, and Stone is worrying about adjustments?

Save me from overprotective barnacles.

"For crying out loud-..." Reaching over, Robotnik unlocks the bathroom door and pulls it open, stepping out while he grouses, "Shut up Stone, you know it's perfect."

Stone immediately snaps around to face him where he had been waiting with his back turned, a frown creasing his brow when he starts, "No, of course I-…"

Whatever protest Stone had been about to voice, it trails off halfway through when he lays eyes on the other man. It creates an almost comical effect when his furrowed brow eases slightly, lips parted around the words that won’t come.

For once entirely convinced that that is a good reaction, Robotnik grins slowly, wolfishly, and raises his arms to present himself to his fullest; shaking his wrists out a little to show how well he can move. “So? See anything that needs changing?”

“No, it…” Stone begins again, then once more loses his train of thought. He blinks slowly, shaking his head, and steps closer. Stops with his hands raised in front of him before he drops them again, and clears his throat. “You look…”

“Yes?”

“Simply magnificent.” The admission is quiet, a hint of breathlessness around the edges, but no less fierce for it. The smile that spreads slowly across Stone’s face is almost dazed, brilliant in its intensity.

If Robotnik had not felt good about his appearance before, this would have done it. His sycophant looks truly blown away, and he hasn’t even given him the full show yet. Reaching for his sweetly gobsmacked partner, the doctor grabs him by the chin with one hand, yanking him in closer so they are nose to nose while he asks lowly, “Is that a compliment to my appearance, or your sewing skills?”

If Stone is surprised by the sudden yank forwards, he does not show it; his smile is unwavering and his eyes dark when he raises an eyebrow, crowsfeet appearing to show his mirth. “I’m really not paying any attention to the sewing right now.”

"No? Funny to hear that, since you keep oggling me; and my eyes are up here , sycophant."

“Oh, trust me, I know that.”

The grin on Robotnik’s face turns near manic in glee while he fairly purrs a chuckle, pleased beyone words. Oh, his sycophant always knows exactly how to boost his ego that little bit more.

Unhanding Stone with care, Robotnik takes a step back and turns around his own axis slowly, arms raised in a mimicry of one of his dances. "I should be good to go with this, right? Think I will blow them away with all this rizz?"

"All this…” For a moment, Stone’s surprise changes, going from awed to perplexed before he laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Where did you get that from?"

"It's what cool kids say nowadays, Stone; get with the times." Faking an eyeroll, Robotnik gestures at himself again, greedy to hear what he suspects he knows already. " So? "

Seeming to hear something in the single word that nobody else would catch, Stone visibly softens. Stepping in again, he reaches out once more, and this time, he lets his hands connect; smooths them along the collar, runs them over the topmost button. He hesitates there for only half a second before he pops it open with a simple flick of a finger.

Something about the ease of the gesture and the quiet snap makes Robotnik’s usually so big mouth suddenly go dry while he blinks in startled wonder down at his sycophant.

“There,” Stone decides on a murmur, looking up at him with a smile playing around his lips. "The way you look now, they won't be able to handle all this… rizz."

There is a hint of amusement quivering around the single word, and affection so deep in Stone’s eyes that Robotnik feels he could drown in it any second now. All his earlier confidence and teasing is forgotten in the favor of… well, not insecurity; there is not a single doubt in his mind at all, no second guessing left. Quite the opposite, in fact: He feels a restless buzzing start up under his skin, urging him to do something.

Perhaps now is the time…?

"Stone-…” he starts – and blinks, a bit perplexed, when Stone begins at the same time, “Doctor, there-…

They exchange a startled glance before they both smirk and shake their heads .

“Too much synchronicity,” Robotnik decides on a chuckle, waving his hand. “You first, sycophant.”

“Ah, alright,” Stone clears his throat sharply, his smirk falling abruptly. He looks almost uncomfortable when he starts again, "I know you’re about to start streaming right now, but if you have time still, there is something that I would like to… well-…”

Once again, he trails off, clearing his throat. Somehow, the fact that he is visibly uncomfortable is making Robotnik feel unease as well, the earlier lightheartedness forgotten as first doubts start to nag at his mind. What, is Stone about to give him some kind of bad news? Has something been bothering the other, and he hadn’t even noticed?

Suddenly feeling like he does absolutely not want to know what is going on, Robotnik rips up his hand and demands, “Wait! Just. Wait for a second, Stone.”

Predictably, Stone falls silent immediately as requested even though he looks a bit startled now. “Yes? Is there-…?”

There is nothing specific, actually, Robotnik realizes. He has not decided on what to say after interrupting the other, he had only known that he cannot let Stone finish his sentence right now. He would lose his nerve to go through with his plan if it turned out that his sycophant had bad news for him today, of all times.

So, lost for words for once, he gestures for Stone to be silent for a moment while he types in a command on his gloves.

In the corner his workstation is located in, one of the Badniks gives a confirming beep and rises from its port, hovering over to them at a measured pace and coming to a stop between them.

“You can finish – whatever it is,” Robotnik explains towards Stone while he knocks against the chassis top open the microwave lid. “Right after I – well. I have something… prepared for you, and if you could take a look at it first, you might-…”

Might what? Change his mind, maybe? Unlikely. The doctor grouses, hands hesitating over the gifts he had picked out. Yesterday, they had seemed perfect to him and he had actually thought that he had done a good job at this whole… business. But now, with Stone looking at him so confused and so strangely tense in a way he never is, Robotnik is suddenly unsure of his decision. What if Stone had just about to tell him that he thought the whole Valentine’s vibe for the stream is a ridiculous idea? The whole holiday, maybe? Then his presents wouldn’t be well received at all. And there is not even a way to hide that they are Valentine’s gifts, dammit, he had made sure of that himself!

“Doctor.”

Stone’s voice cuts clean through his racing thoughts and he blinks sharply, looking up at the other over the Badniks’ dome.

Stone is smiling at him; hesitant around the edges, but no less sincere for it. Once he is sure he has the doctor’s attention, his smile goes lopsided, and he tilts his head. “Whatever it is, I will listen, and… we can figure it out. Alright?

“… Right.” Now he is the one who clears his throat, a little too sharply perhaps. Right, he still has to actually talk in order to find out what Stone will think about all of this. And no matter what his genius brain is trying to convince him of right now – if his sycophant had never blown up at him at his worst in the past decade, surely a dumb mistake over a insipid holiday wouldn’t be where he finally lost his patience with the mad scientist?

Keep telling yourself that, you might just believe it.

Now well and truly fed up with his uncooperative mind, Robotnik clicks his tongue impatiently and reaches into the Badnik to unearth the gift pile carefully.

Perhaps there should be some big speech for this; a sort of... of setting the mood, of creating the perfect moment. But for all his diligent research and his genius, this is something that Robotnik had not been able to figure out how to do, figuring all the romantic backdrop would not fit either of them quite well and would seem… fake.

So he does it like he always would - direct and blunt. Without decorum and in a hurry to get this over with before he can start doubting again, he shoos the Badnik away once more and then just shoves his collection of items at Stone with a sharp, "Here. For you."

For a second, Stone fumbles when the entire pile is shoved into his arms without warning. He scrambles to catch it all, and once he is sure it is secure, he heaves a great sigh and shakes his head with a grin. Only then does he look down at what had just gotten thrown at him, a curious question already forming,

“Doctor, what is…”

Robotnik watches, breath swallow and fingers rubbing together, when Stone trails off and simply… stares, for a beat or two. Come on, now, sycophant, don’t freeze up on me.

Thankfully, whatever kind of stupor had gripped his sycophant does not last long. As the doctor had predicted, Stone's focus lands on the card on top first. Angling the other items so they lie in the crook of his arm, Stone picks up the card by the edge, gaze skipping over it as if searching for a hidden message.

There is none, of course; Robotnik would know. It is simply a white, unasuming card, no text in between the pages, but a very obvious picture printed on front: Two coffee cups drawn in a comic-style, with tiny smiling faces, and a single line of text printed below them. It read I love you a latte.

Or well – that is what it had read, for a while. Before Robotnik had gotten his hands on it, that is.

Stone stares at the card for one, two beats longer than truly necessary, before a smile twists his lips and he laughs. A single breathless burst of amusement, perhaps mixed with a bit of awe as he reads aloud, “I love your lattes."

The entirely positive reaction makes Robotnik breathe a tad easier, tension on his chest easing as he smirks. While the drawing is childish and atrocious, the original text of the card had had some potential; it had simply lacked a certain personal touch. Thankfully that had been easily rectified with a pen and some handwritten correction. "That us nothing new," he points out, finding it in him to muster up a weak smirk.

"True." Still smiling, Stone runs his fingers across the card, sketching the lines of the pre-printed words and the corrections in pen carefully. While no more than a tender brush over paper, the sight of it makes warmth bloom in Robotnik’s chest. Almost as much as the grin his sycophant sends his way when he adds cheekily, "Still nice to get it in writing."

"You can put it in your resume for all care," he huffs, fighting his own grin when it earns him a chuckle. So this had gone over quite nicely; the card had been a good idea then. But… "There is more, you know."

Torn from his reverie, Stone looks up from the card down to the other two items he has cradled on instinct. Shuffling them around, he manages to pick up the rose next, holding it gingerly first before it sinks in that it is not real.

Robotnik watches with bated breath as his sycophant looks the item over. In his humble opinion, his babies had done a fantastic job on it. The size, form and colors mimic a real rose down to the last detail; and since he has used higher quality of fabric, it is also much more colorful and softer to the touch. To add a little extra, he had sprayed a thin layer of lacquer over the petals’ edges, assuring they would not fray easily.

It is obvious that Stone realizes all this too in record time. His eyes widen as he strokes the petals edge, feeling the thin hard layer over the soft fabric, and his lips fall open on a slow breath. “Doctor, is this…”

“Self-made,” Robotnik explains, rocking a little on his heels. It is getting harder and harder to figure out Stone’s various expressions, and it is grating on his already electrified nerves. “Or, Badnik-made. That fabric I asked you for, was for this. And I had to finish it while you weren’t looking, which is why I had to resist your distraction from with my work yesterday evening…”

“No, I-… I can see that this is self-made,” Stone interrupts him quietly, eyes still glued to the rose he is turning carefully between his fingers. “It is stunning, and you have to tell me how you made it, but that wasn’t what I-… I am. A little confused right now, doctor. Is this... a Valentine’s gift?”

The question is very much not what he had been expecting.

“… Yes?” Obviously, Robotnik does not add, biting down viciously on the word as it tries to crawl out his mouth. No, no. He is not going to snap at Stone for this just because he is getting antsy over the proceedings. The question is a legitimate one, after all. Clearing his throat, he shifts in place, playing with the edge of his control glove. His hands are starting to feel sweaty under it, which is new. “I know I made my... dislike of the holiday more than clear-…”

“You could say that,” Stone agrees seemingly on autopilot, then makes an apologetic sound in the back of his throat when he realizes he has interrupted him.

As if it matters right now. Robotnik waves him off and continues on, “But still, it seems like the done thing between... partners. And. You seemed… not quite uninterested in it, when I confronted you about it.”

“… Caught that, huh,” Stone’s lips twist in that slightly self-depracting way he sometimes has, gaze lowering briefly while he huffs out a laugh. Then a thought seems to cross his mind, and he looks up sharply, “Wait. Did you get me all this because you felt you have to? Or…”

“I wanted to.”

The admission is out before he can stop it; not that he truly wants to. But even though he is alright with having said it, Robotnik clamps his mouth shut tightly right after, cursing his too quick tongue once again. That had sounded way too vulnerable for his liking.

Stone is staring at him, something undecipherable in his eyes. If if is pity, the doctor is officially leaving the Crab right now, return date undecided. With a great huff, Robotnik shakes his head and waves his hand at his little haul, sneering at it uncomfortably. “Or, I tried to, let’s leave it at that. As you can see, I am not actually experienced in all of this.”

There is a hitch of breath before Stone speaks. “Neither am I, remember?”

“At least you have a vague idea of what you are doing,” Robotnik counters on a snap. “One out of the two of us got proposed to on such little shows of goodwill, sycophant, and it was not me.”

This time, the silence stretches between them, turning from odd to uncomfortable to downright awkward. Damn it all, but he had done it again, the doctor grouses, hissing through his teeth. Gotten angry at his own shortcomings, and instead of turning that anger inwards, he had -

“I got chocolates,” Stone says, apropos of nothing. When the genius blinks at him, confused, he explains, “I mean, in the past. The people that were interested in me, that I told you about? They came to me to ask me for a date, or just to tell me that they liked me – which was ridiculous, if you ask me, since they didn’t even really know me.”

At this point, Stone pauses, brow furrowing in a dark frown as he scoffs. Something about the sight makes Robotnik snort, strangely pleased by it even now; like always when his sycophant makes it clear he has not patience for the rest of the low lives around them either.

The sound seems to encourage Stone to continue, since he sends him a quick smirk and keeps talking. “Anyway, as I was saying, there was always chocolate to go with it. Every single time. And you know what? “

Here, his sycophant leans in a bit as if about to share a great secret.

Something like a quiet hope stirs in Robotnik at the antics and he leans in, intrigued. “Enlighten me.”

“It was never even the sort I liked.” Stone snorts and shakes his head. “They wanted to win me over with sweets, and didn’t even bother to make sure they got me something I liked.”

Oh. That was… utterly moronic, Robotnik decides, feeling a wave of indignation rise up inside of him at the mere thought. How utterly braindead had someone to be to not even do simple reconnaissance about the likes and dislikes of a person they had allegedly taken an interest in?

Even he had done that!

Or, at least he hoped he had done that.

Suddenly not quite sure anymore if the anger should be directed at faceless people from his sycophant’s past, or himself, Robotnik clears his throat and gestures to the assortment of items in Stone’s arm. “And… these ones?”

“These?” Stone’s gaze clears and he glances down, and then back up again, frown making way for surprise. “You mean you don’t know?”

The reminder that he does, indeed, not know everything makes the genius wince. Ouch, unnecessary low blow. Give him a break, he tried! Sniffing a bit, Robotnik crosses his arms over his chest defensively, grumbling, “I… made some assumptions perhaps.”

“Assumptions,” the other man parrots, a slow smile stretching over his face. “Doctor, you got me my favorites.”

...Oh.

Well. Ahem. Totally knew that, of course! But just to make sure – “Really?”

“Well, I don’t have a favorite brand or anything, but – I love all of these flavors,” Stone turns the box in his hand, reading the ingredient list in the same way the doctor had done before him. “Oh, even the pricey stuff. We should have some of these for dessert today.”

He seems to be delighted by the find, and something tight in Robotnik’s chest eases, allowing him to draw proper breath again. Well. Alright, he had not messed up entirely, then. Perhaps not even too much?

As if hearing his thoughts, Stone puts the box down carefully on a table nearby, and instead reaches for the rose and the card balancing between the fingers of his other hand. “And these… I love them!”

“You do.”

“Of course I do!” Instead of looking offended by his doubts, his sycophant simply chuckles while he turns the card in his hands, fondness in his eyes. “This one is getting put on the nightstand. Or in my resume, not sure yet.”

A hesitant smile twitches around the doctor’s lips. “Should have known that would stroke your ego.”

Who is he kidding? He had hoped it would.

“It is getting to my head, alright,” Stone agrees, turning to put the card down as well. He seems unable to stop smiling the entire time, and with every second that passes, Robotnik finds it easier to smile back.

The rose is last, and Stone studies it closely for a beat before he seems to realize something. Almost hesitant, he lifts the fake flower to his face and breathes in deeply. His eyes widen when he snaps back up, looking caught between delight and surprise. “It even smells real, how…”

“Synthesized a rose fragrance,” Robotnik explains quietly. “It probably will not last forever; I did not have time to test the duration, obviously. But if you need more, I can make you some.”

“Make me some,” Stone mutters. He is doing that a lot today, the genius wonders quietly, repeating what he has heard. Shaking his head, Stone puts the rose to the side as well, standing there with his hands empty, a little awkward around the edges. “Doctor, you-… all of this…”

“You like it?”

“I love it,” Stone answers immediately, fervently. The stubborn jut of his chin and the slant of his brow just dare anyone to argue.

And just like that, all of Robotnik’s worries go out the window. Because he knows this expression – knows that this is Stone at his most determined, his most sincere. So this is fine. This can work.

If there is anyone who deserves this last present he has prepared, then it is Stone, who refuses to back down even in the face of all of the doctor’s doubts and hangups.

Mind made up, he is about to call the babies back over with the final present, when Stone interrupts him “Doctor, I also-..."

"No, wait,” he says; asks, really. Holding up a hand that absolutely does not shake, Robotnik finishes the command with a flick of his thumb while he explains, "We are not finished."

If Stone had looked surprised by the presents before, he looks fairly dumbstruck now. "There is more?"

The sheer disbelief is almost funny, despite his nerves. Robotnik shoots him a look, very close to rolling his eyes at him. "Come on, you know me, that was way too tame."

“How was that tame…”

Stone stops speaking when he is interrupted (again) – this time, by the Mini-Nik floating over to them slowly. It is bopping up and down in a zigzag line as it goes, almost dragged down by the weight that is attached to its magnetized underbelly.

Feeling nearly a bit bad for calling the little one instead of its siblings, Robotnik reaches out in time to catch both the drone and the gauntlets it is carrying, unfasten the later from it while he murmurs a soothing sound to the drone.

The Mini-Nik shakes itself once liberated from its cargo and beeps twice before floating back up. It aims straight for Stone, pushing against his cheek like an affectionate cat while the man laughs and cradles it carefully.

So busy is he crooning quietly to it while it purrs at him, he nearly misses when Robotnik clears his throat and holds the gauntlets out for him to take.

The tiny drone forgotten for a moment, Stone carefully accepts the gloves, one in each hand, and turns them over slowly. He won’t find anything, of course; their outside has not changed. Stone realizes that pretty quickly himself, and looks up from the gadgets towards their creator, eyebrows raised. “Is this about the updates you made the other day?”

“Yes,” Robotnik agrees. He could pull up the readings of course, show Stone the lines of code. He had considered doing just that, let him figure it out for himself. Really uphold the mystery until the last second. But somehow, it feels wrong to not tell him personally. “There are the updates you know about, of course, but – there is one more.”

“Oh, a new function?” Apparently even more curious now, Stone glances between one glove and Robotnik with an anticipatory smile.

Once he catches sight of… well, whatever the doctor’s face is doing right now – he is not quite sure himself – his smile falls abruptly. “Doctor? There is nothing wrong with them, is there?”

“No, there is not. Just a shiny new upgrade for you.” Well then. Here it is: The moment of truth. Robotnik takes a slow, measured breath while he waits and listens into himself for anything that could be regret, or doubt or… fear. Yes, fear. For once, he can be honest with himself.

But it never comes. All he feels is a sense of anticipation when he meets Stone’s confused gaze, and he finds himself almost smirking when he answers, "I upgraded your access rights."

The admission does not get an immediate reaction; he figured it wouldn’t, to be honest. The way Stone tilts his head reads as confused, almost perplexed. He starts slowly, almost carefully, clearly grasping for an earlier talk on the subject as he asks, “I thought I'm... didn't you mention that our rights are nearly the same by now?"

"Nearly is the important part there, Stone." How to explain this? The access rights had been nearly the same as his, but not the same. Either subconsciously, out of habit, or because a tiny paranoid part of his brain just couldn't let it go, he had never given Stone all the rights, all the accesses; in the end, his own commands always outweighed the one's his sycophant could give, and certain parts of his inventions and notes were cut of from the rest with passwords.

Well. Not anymore.

Licking his uncomfortably dry lips, Robotnik rattles everything off he had prepared in advance, and gone over and over again, "Consider it a sort of root access; this way, you won't need any more passwords or fingerprints, you can essentially brute force access into any part of my files and programming when the need arises. Additionally, when you give an order, all earlier commands to the same unit are overwritten, even if I was the one who gave them; unless you choose to keep them, of course, but that might mess up some of the finer details."

There. He figures he has put this into simple and very clear terms. They can always hash out the details and how to use it later. Expectantly, he watches until Stone lights up with the new knowledge, the way he always does when Doctor Robotnik unveils another one of his works.

Only that the lighting up never comes. If anything, Stone looks more confused than ever before. His gaze keeps darting between the gauntlets in his suddenly white-knuckled grip, over to Robotnik, and back again. There is no recognition there, no smile, no awe.

It’s all wrong, Robotnik has time to think before dread rises up in him like a floodwave. There is something he missed here, isn’t there? Or…

"You mean..." Stone’s voice is so utterly flat, it is impossible to read the emotions behind it. "Excuse me, what."

"You heard me." Or, perhaps he hadn’t, Robotnik decides, breathing out slowly so as not to let the jittery feeling win. It is entirely possible that he had been talking too fast in his rush to get it all out, so he explains a bit slower this time, "You got full root access to the entire network and anything that is saved on or connected to it. It is supposed to be a safety net; even if I’m not around, you can work with the tech, no holds barred. The gauntlets are only symbolic, of course. The rights are added to your account itself, so even if you should lose them for some unfathomable reason, or break them in one of your reckless stunts, you can still use any kind of our software to…”

He trails off, words fading when he takes in his sycophant a bit more closely. Stone is no longer looking at him; gaze riveted by the gauntlets in a way that makes Robotnik wonder if the other had even heard a single word he had just said.

Wringing his hands together, then dropping them sharply when he catches himself doing it, Robotnik asks much softer than he had meant to, "Stone. Did you understand all that?"

Stone jolts as if hit, and blinks wide eyes up at him. “I-… um. No.”

Just when Robotnik wants to snort and repeat it, he keeps talking, halting and voice cracking at odd places, “Wait, no, I – I did hear you, I just – I don’t understand what you… did you. Did you really just hand me this?”

Stammering, wide-eyed… are his hands trembling? They are. The doctor’s stomach falls as he realizes how wrong this is. Stone’s hands never tremble. They are the surest, deftest hands on the planet; if push came to shove, Robotnik would pick them over his own hands - which have the surety of a surgeon, thanks very much - any day

Oh, this must be really bad. Really, really bad. He doesn’t know how, exactly, but he must have messed something up. Robotnik’s gaze darts uneasily over Stone’s frame, searching for hints that will tell him what, exactly, he had done wrong now. He had imagined many different scenarios in the past few days, more bad than good; sometimes he had imagined Stone laughing at his presents because he thought them a joke, other times he had wondered if his sycophant would reject the idea of the responsibility that came with accepting those new upgrades.

The only positive outcome he could imagine was that Stone would smile at him in awe like he usually did.

But this – this does not fit any of his imaginations. He cannot even remotely tell what emotion the other man is projecting right now. They had started out really well, or at least he thought they had, but now -

That he cannot read Stone at all is a nightmare in its own right. It makes his skin crawl, makes him antsy, and he finds himself crossing his arms tightly, drawing his shoulders up while he pulls his lips back in a quiet snarl and rolls his eyes. “Well, yes? What did you expect me to do, make a public announcement about it? Look, sycophant, we both know I don't know how to do any of this, so excuse me for messing up what apparently should have been a more momentous occasion - I don't know, did you expect a confetti shower or mood music or-...?"

The longer he talks, the more Stone’s face transforms. His eyes widen even more, and he opens his mouth as if to say something – then falls silent when the doctor steamrolls over him, talking too fast to let anyone get a word in edgewise. By the time Robotnik is flinging up his hands to the word “confetti”, Stone’s brow furrows and he huffs – huffs! – and -

And he flings the gauntlets onto the counter next to himself.

He. Just. Flung them!

Really now! The nerve! A little more respect, please, this is sensitive stuff! Robotnik opens his mouth to say a few very pointed somethings about that and demand a bit more care for highly developed tech of one of its kind, but he never gets to utter a single sound.

Stone takes the two steps he needs to crowd into the doctor's personal space and keeps the forward momentum going, effectively making Robotnik wonder if he should back away; of course his pride will not let him, his spine going rigid while he stands his ground, but damn, he wonders if Stone feels that same instinct whenever he crowds him in like that and if the other just manages to ignore it or-...

And then he does not wonder much anymore, when his sycophant cradles his face, firm but gentle, and pulls him down. More startled than anything, the genius goes with the tug, hears something that sounds suspiciously like “Stop talking” – and before he can even think about questioning that or getting angry, Stone is rocking up and slotting their lips together.

Immediately, all of Robotnik’s whirling thoughts come to a screeching halt; entire genius intellect narrowing down to focus of the point of contact and nothing else. Stone’s lips are firm on his, but his approach is less violent than it might have looked like from the outside. It is so gentle at first that it is barely more than a ghost of a touch, and yet, it makes Robtonik shudder all over, eyes slamming shut while he groans and leans in for more.

He gets it; as always, Stone gives him everything he asks for.

For a long, blissful moment it is only this, the press and glide of lips over lips, warm, familiar; the fingers pressing into his temples grounding. Only when the genius melts into the touch, kissing back slowly, does Stone hum a pleased sound and allows his hands to wander. They tangle in Robotnik’s hair, pulling him closer and tilting his head for better access.

Around the same time, it finally sinks truly in for the genius that he cannot have messed up too badly, if Stone is kissing him like this, and he scrambles to reciprocate for real. Hands formerly hanging limply snap up and grab at the younger’s waist, yanking him closer so hastily they both stumble back against the wall with a loud clang.

The impact barely even registers for either of them, busy as they are.

It is Stone who pulls back first after a small eternity; he does so with some trouble, having to start speaking several times because he keeps being interrupted by a disgruntled Robotnik, who aims to pick up where they left off. Finally, he tilts his head back on a laugh and manages around the barrage of kisses and nips, “I was going to say - wait, stop – I’m trying to say that – wait - that the chocolates I made are going to look entirely ridiculous and cheap after you handed me all this."

… Hold on. Bzzzt. Back up and rewind.

Freezing mid-motion, Robotnik analyzes that statement, picks it apart bit for bit, and then leans back for good to peer down at his amused sycophant with a fairly dumbstruck expression. "You made me chocolates?"

"I did.”

Made them. Didn't just buy them, his genius mind informs him helpfully. Takes longer, which means it was planned. Which in turn means -

Nearly shoving Stone back at arm length, Robotnik shakes him a little, torn between indignation and laughter while he accuses, “So you did always mean to celebrate Valentine’s!”

“No, I-…” instead of surprise or offense at being manhandled, Stone only laughs harder, looking delighted by the reaction he is getting. Raising his hands in surrender, he wheezes out, “Honestly, I didn’t mean to celebrate it; I know you hate all this holiday celebration stuff. But then you brought it up by yourself and it got me thinking that a little present might still be nice? And chocolate is always a good option, so-…”

“It did seem like a safe option,” the doctor agrees on a mutter, remembering his own experiences in trying to find a fitting present. The sweets had been the easiest to choose out of all the options available.

“Right?” The younger man smiles up at him crookedly. “Chocolate does not have to be a Valentine’s gift at all. If push came to shove and you really ended up hating it because it’s for Valentine’s Day, I would have just said it is a coincidence with the date and was not meant in that way.”

An incredulous snort slips out of him. “And you think that would have fooled me?”

“Well, no. But would you have said No to handmade sweets?”

… Well, also no. Absolutely would not have. Rejecting handmade chocolates from his sycophant? What is he, an imbecile? Puh-lease!

Strangely giddy for two reasons now – getting a gift and being understood so well – Robotnik releases the other, instead clapping his hands together. "Well, what are you waiting for then? Let me see my present!"

There is a quiet little laugh when Stone ducks his head, then looks back at up him with an expression that seems to hover between incredulous and fond. “Can we talk about the fact that you just handed me unrestrained access to all of your tech at some point?”

“Meh. What is there to talk about anyway?” Waving his hand to shoo that notion away right away, Robotnik shrugs. “And how is that important when there is chocolate?”

“You-…” For a moment, it looks like Stone will argue, mouth open – then he huffs out an incredulous little laugh and throws up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Alright! Chocolates it is.”

“Good decision, sycophant!”

Magnanimously ignoring the way the younger is still muttering under his breath when he turns around on his heels, Robotnik follows him doggedly towards the kitchen.

All but hovering over Stone’s shoulder, he watches with interest how the man opens the fridge and bends down to the lowest shelf, reaching into the very depths to unearth a square box from it.

When Stone does not immediately turn around and hand it over, the doctor gets impatient, sidling closer to lean over the man’s shoulder. “What? Something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” Almost imperceptible, Stone’s shoulder rise and fall when he breathes in deeply. About to ask once more if everything is alright, Robotnik is interrupted when his sycophant finally turns, a crooked smile on his lips, and offers out the box to him. “Here. I hope you like them.”

Something about how tense Stone is sobers Robotnik right up again. It seems to him that will he is near giddy with excitement, it is now his sycophant’s turn to feel uneasy about this whole gift giving business.

Not knowing what else to do, the doctor reaches for the box. Halts, fingers flexing, only an inch from it while he checks just to be sure, “You made them yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” he mutters to himself. The enormity of that fact is only just starting to sink in for him. Not just bought like he had, but actually made…

Alright, he is beginning to understand how one could feel nervous about this.

Hands absolutely not shaking, he takes the offered gift from Stone and lifts it up to inspect it.

The box is a shiny black; the ribbon a bright red with hints of gold glittering in it. On first glance, the ensemble is unassuming, a box of chocolates that could have come from any other bakery.

But it is not. It is handmade, and knowing that alone makes Robotnik slow down instead of ripping into it immediately. He plucks the ribbon open carefully, puts it aside. Lifts the lid off the box by slipping a finger under it to slide it up and puts that away, too.

There is a knot in his belly that he ignores viciously when he glimpses the contents for the first time.

On first glance, it is a box of ordinary chocolates; four rows with eight pieces each, each little sweet nestled into a layer of crinkly, dark red paper.

Then his eyes adjust enough to pick out the details, and the smartest man on the planet stops thinking entirely, mind blanking.

The chocolates are not round, nor merely decorated; they are formed like tiny Badniks. Every line of their plated bodies lovingly detailed by neat grooves in the chocolate. The white chassis hinted at with the thinnest layer of white chocolate, and their lenses made from a single minuscule drop of milk chocolate with a hint of red food coloring. Each of them is barely bigger than a thumb nail, but they are still as detailed as the real thing.

Handmade chocolate is one thing, Robotnik reflects, near paralyzed and brain only slowly rebooting, but this? This must have taken a lot of work beyond that. Had Stone made a mold for this? Obviously, yes, he must have. And the details must have been done by hand…

With a care usually reserved for his inventions or his sycophant, Robotnik picks one of the little treats out of the box and holds it to eye level, turning it over slowly. He cannot find fault in it, not even a hint. There is a tiny piece of perfection in his hand.

The knot in his belly has wandered to his chest by now, making it hard to breathe. He… usually, he is the one to create perfection; on demand, out of necessity, or because he will not settle for less. Now, there is something that was made perfect for him. Such lovingly detailed, carefully crafted pieces…

His hand shakes so badly he nearly drops the chocolate. Pulling himself together with a shake of his shoulders, Robotnik pushes through and lifts it to his mouth instead. He bites down, careful to only bite off half of the little treat.

Almost immediately, his eyes slam shut, and he hums a sound of surprised pleasure as he chews. There is first the crack of the chocolate shell bursting, sweetness with a bitter hint melting on his tongue, and right behind it, a liquid core of a familiar mix of coffee with an earthy note floods his mouth, mixing perfectly with the chocolate. Familiar, but with a hint of new that makes it exciting.

Chewing quickly even though a part of him screams at him to savor this, Robotnik opens his eyes to stare at Stone, baffled and delighted both. “You made me latte chocolates?”

“With Austrian goat milk, yes.” Stone is fidgeting uncharacteristically, thumb rubbing against is watch unconsciously while he watches the other man like a hawk. “It took me a few times to get the balance correctly so it wouldn’t overpower the chocolate but I think I got it right this time?”

“Right? This is not just right, this is delicious,” he pops the uneaten half of the chocolate into his mouth and immediately angles for a second, stuffing that in his mouth too. Still chewing, he declares with a happy hum, “Absolute perfection, as my babies should be.”

Still chewing, he glances over at Stone, meaning to send a grin his way to signal how good it really is – but stops, nearly choking on his mouthful when he catches sight of the other man’s face.

He had thought he had seen all the different smiles in Stone’s repertoire by now; fake and real, small and big. Sharp as a knife, bright as the sun. He has seen them all, memorized them all to assign them to different emotions and situations so that he one day might come to understand how to put them back on Stone’s face with any means necessary.

But this smile… it makes Robotnik gulp down half chewed chocolate with a throat too tight. Makes him wish he could shield himself, for it feels like he is looking at the sun itself, and its making his eyes sting suspiciously.

Not quite unlike the way Stone’s voice wraps around the words I love you, every time he says it; but now it is in visual form.

He finds he is not quite used to that yet. Suddenly feeling like he cannot look at this fairly radiant partner a second longer before doing something embarrassing, Robotnik clears his throat sharply and looks down. Eyes the box in his hand as if it is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. “You, ah. How did you get the form right?”

“Oh!” Thankfully – sadly? – the smile changes, becoming a little more bearable when Stone wips around on his heel, ducking beneath the counter nearby. He rummages around in one of the cabinets before coming back up, holding a sort of mold up for emphasis. “3D printed this.”

“Printed…” a distant memory rings in the back of Robotniks’ head and he nearly gasps in faked outrage. “That project you wanted to print?”

“Exactly.”

“You did that right in front of me?” The nerve of him! The humiliation of not having realized! Despite himself, Robotnik feels strangely proud of it. Beautifully, brilliantly sneaky sycophant! ..

“Kind of hard not to; there is not a lot of space around here.”

True enough; he had noticed that much himself when he had been searching for a good hiding spot for… his own gifts…

Another memory comes crashing back into his mind, and Robotnik feels his jaw go slack, then snap closed when he grins sharply. “The chocolate was never meant for a cake, was it?”

“.. Not in the first place, no.” Stone scratches his cheek, laughing quietly at himself. "That was just to have an excuse when you asked after the chocolate. I had some leftover after making the chocolates, luckily."

"Luckily," the doctor repeats incredulously. So not only had his sycophant gotten up early to make him these beauties, he had also baked a cake just to keep up appearances for a bit longer. And they say I’m insane. Smiling slowly, Robotnik points out, "You know, the baby nearly concussed me to get me away from the damn fridge.”

Just like he had hoped, the slightly sheepish look is wiped instantly from Stone’s face when he laughs, clearly not believing him for a second. “Dramatic,” he accuses on a chuckle. “I only tasked it with distracting you when you get close.”

“It did more than that, trust me.” By now, more and more details are slotting together into a bigger picture, and that fast. The chocolate for the base, the 3d printed mold - the way Stone had gotten nervous when he had mentioned the chocolate in the fridge; he must have thought he had gotten caught for a beat. And not to mention that Stone admits himself that he had needed to try several times to get the chocolates right; he must have gotten up early just to manage it all in time. And added all of that on top of his already tight schedule, what with sewing a shirt and generally taking care of everything around here.

Startled surprise makes slowly way for dawning realization, then a feeling that Robotnik cannot quite name; fizzling and bubbling and hot in the area of his chest and stomach. It is nearly nauseating in its intensity and his hands shake with it… but he does not hate it. Not at all. It still needs an outlet, though. Seeing as Stone is the cause of it, he can also very well deal with it.

Decision made, Robotnik puts the box of chocolates down on the counter - puts! See Stone, no need for throwing or flinging things!

Only once it is safe does he turn around and stalk over to his partner, hand outstretched in a silent demand.

Not missing a beat, Stone offers the mold out to him to take; probably thinking that is what the doctor is after.

Half-right, Robotnik decides on an eyeroll, plucking the offered item out of the other’s hands and throwing it over his shoulder carelessly (what. He is getting impatient, here).

He does not even wait for the telltale crash of the plastic landing somewhere; already pushing into Stone's space way before then, walking him backwards until they hit the counter.

Usually, this is where Robotnik would have crashed them together in a kiss that starts out with more force and teeth than strictly necessary, until it is gentled by his more patient partner. But seeing as this is a special occassion, he decides to take a page from Stone's book. With a care usually reserved for his precious babies, he lifts both hands to from Stone's face, tilting it up and back to his liking. Holding there, he lets his thumbs circle; stroking over beard, light stubble, soft skin, all to study the difference. Pauses when he finds the faint scar under his sycophant's right eye, and pays it special attention with a second pass. Follows the faint markings of laugh lines as well as the light wrinkes years of worrying over him have left between those dark brows.

By the time he is satisfied with his observations, Stone's eyes have closed, lips slightly parted in silent rapture. Despite being caged in and held still, he is so utterly relaxed it is… staggering.

Strangely shaken by the fact that his partner is all but melting in his hands, utterly trusting , Robotnik takes a beat longer to memorize this visual... then he leans in.

The first kiss is the antithesis of his usual. Their lips barely brush together before he pulls back, realigns to instead drop a small kiss to the corner of Stone’s mouth. Then goes to repeat the same on the other side. Another one, right on the faint zigzag line beneath the eye

The number thirty-two seemed like an appropriate amount for this endeavor, initially. An effort to match the number of chocolates that had been gifted. But his plans go up in smoke when after the fifth faint brush of lips – the bottom lip - Stone stops trying to catch his lips with his and instead hums a pleading sound, a note between a sigh and a whine.

Whatever kind of focus Robotnik had had shatters like thin glass and he moves immediately, instinctively, to fulfill the silent request, bringing their lips together gently, gently .

For once, he can manage gently. Especially if it gets him one of this pleased little sighs again.

For a few moments that seem endless, the only sounds between them is the rustle of clothes when they shift to get closer; the hitch of breath and huffed laughter when they knock against the counter.

Robotnik is the first to pull back this time. Stopping Stone when the other wants to follow, the doctor tries to catch his breath before he breaths out a chuckle. Tangling a hand in the short hair at the back of his sycophant’s hair, he pulls him in in a way that presses their brows together while he murmurs. “You made these. For me.”

A beat passes in which Stone seems to try and catch his breath, before he murmurs back just as quietly, “You’re saying that as if it’s something incredible.”

“It is.” Doesn’t he see? He has to see. There is no way he cannot; Stone has been with him for so long, he must realize how momentous this is, having something made for Ivo Robotnik, scientist and inventor, instead of the other way around.

But Stone shakes his head, smiling a little bemusedly when he tries to argue, “You make more incredible things every-…”

Oh, that is just – nope. This argument is over. Rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, Robontik rips one hand up to grab Stone’s chin; firm, but not painful, neatly closing that clever mouth before it can spout more nonsense. “Stop arguing with me, sycophant,” he rumbles, aiming for stern and feeling like he fails; he cannot stop grinning. “Certified genius, here. If I say incredible, you say yes of course.”

“Maybe I would, if you hadn’t just given me root access to-…”

Oh alright, if the hand is not enough – with a growl, Robotnik darts forward and kisses the protest right from Stone’s lips before leaning back again “You insist on talking about boring things today.”

Mouth still agape after being interrupted, Stone splutters and then laughs, eyebrows arching. “Boring?”

“Boring,” the doctor confirms. “Dull, monotonous, uninteresting. It was only a matter of time until you got it, anyway. Grave oversight on my part that you didn’t have it yet, even.”

“You don’t do oversights.”

“As so often, I apparently make exceptions when it comes to you.”

That, finally, serves to shut down any further protests Stone might have had. He opens his mouth soundlessly, then closes it again slowly. Clearly robbed of words for the moment.

Satisfied with that, Robotnik hums deeply and then announces calmly, “I won’t eat these chocolates on stream.”

Stone blinks, perplexed. Then his expression softens and he starts, "You don’t have to-....”

“Have to? Sycophant, I can’t, obviously,” the doctor interrupts while pulling back, looking down at the other with a raised eyebrow. “The moment the Egg Heads spot these, they will demand to know where they come from, and then want their own.”

"Oh. Well." Stone blinks again, turning that over in his mind. Then a smirk tugs at his lips, eyes flashing with mirth. “Well, we could sell them, if you-…”

With his usual dramatic flair, Robotnik yelps as if hit, slapping the other man over the arm. “Are you crazy?! The likeness of my babies, made by my sycophant? No sharing, no selling; I have exclusive rights to these."

"Ah, of course. Sorry, doctor."

"Hmmm. Thoughtless of you, Stone. That much should have been obvious." He draws the haughty gaze down his nose out until he sees Stone's lips twitch helplessly. Only then does he let the stern facade drop and announces instead, “Since I can’t eat these on stream, I will have to skip streaming today.”

The amusement melts from Stone's face and he breathes in slowly; a startled sound barely caught, “But. Your preparations?”

“Meh. Were not that extravagant that it will be a big loss.” It is not even a lie when Robotnik waves his worries off. The entire preparations for the special stream had taken him not even half a day, the rest od the time he had soent worry-... pondering what to gift Stone. "Spending this thrice blasted holiday with reruns of Ultima Passion episodes that I have seen ten times already will be much more pleasant than dealing with Chat while they are high on hormones and misconceptions."

"Well. That sounds like a plan."

"It is the beginning of one, at least. It is missing a crucial last piece."

"...oh?"

The confusion is back when Stone frowns slightly, but - there is something else there, too. A flicker in his eyes; brief twist to his lips as if he wants to smile but bites it back, unsure if he has reason to.

This time, Robotnik is observing his sycophant very closely and does not miss it. Does not need a watch to tell him that the other man's heartbeat might just have skipped a beat.

Grinning wolfishly in anticipation, he leans in and asks, "What are your plans today, Stone?"

"Nothing much," the twitching worsens, eyes lighting up slowly with amusement; with hope. "Why, did you need me for something?"

"Need is a big word," Robotnik shrugs, biting down on his own amusement. "But if you're free, and if you consider yourself won over accordingly - if - you might want to join me for a rewatch of Ultima Passion while we eat your chocolates."

The hope spills over, flooding Stone's face with a warmth and a glow that is near blinding to look at. "We?"

"I might share two or three with you," the doctor allows. His fingers tap a quick rhythm against the counter next to Stone. "Not the important point, though, sycophant. What do you say to-..."

"Yes."

The answer is so fast and firm, it neatly cuts through Robotnik's question and he is left blinking in consternation for a beat, before he barks out a laugh. "Eager, aren't we?"

"Absolutely," Stone answers without missing a beat, smile widening even more when Robotnik chuckles once again. "Your plan sounds fantastic."

"My plans tend to do that."

"One addition, maybe?"

"Oh?" Now it is Robotnik's turn to be surprised. The triumphant warmth had has felt a beat ago wavers a bit, unsure if it is still welcome. "What would that be?"

“Can I make you some breakfast first?” There is nothing but calm in Stone’s voice, even though he is still beaming. “It wouldn’t be good if you eat all that chocolate on an empty stomach after all.”

Breakfast. The simple explanation knocks down any beginning worries that Robotnik had been experiencing cleanly and he fights back a startled, bright laugh, fighting for an eyeroll instead. “Oh, you – mother hening, yet again. Fine. Let’s make some breakfast, first.”

When Stone lights up further as if he has just handed him the world with that simple agreement, the laughter finally breaks free. Cracked barnacle. Still cackling like a madman, Robotnik grabs that strange, lovely man by the neck and drags him in for another kiss.

He still has twenty-seven to go, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ S ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where Stone is adamant they need to eat some real food, Robotnik is too impatient to really care for it. Cooking and eating takes time he would rather spend differently, and it takes his sycophant from his side. Both clear losses in his eyes.

So in the end, Stone wipes something much lighter and easier up then he would have liked, and watches with barely concealed amusement as the doctor wolfs his portion down like a man starved.

Still chewing, Robotnik pushes the empty plate away from himself and stands, waving Stone to follow him.

Clearly having anticipated something like this, Stone stands to follow after grabbing two mugs of coffee... An insistent smile is dancing around his lips, eyes glittering with barely suppressed laughter while he follows the impatient doctor obediently.

Armed only with the bare essential – aka, his chocolates – Robotink stalks over to their little couch and drops heavily into it, gesturing for the other to follow him.

As Stone approaches and begins to set up everything a bit neater around them, the doctor observes him like a hawk, noting any and all changes on the other’s face. Permanent smile – check. Creased eyes that betray amusement – check. Loose shoulders and a quiet humming while he goes through the necessary motions – check, and check.

Quite pleased with himself, Robotnik settles back against the cushions and stretches out along the couch, smirking to himself. This is very first Valentine’s Day, and he seems to have done a splendid job at it. Maybe all his genius did lend itself to such more romantic overtures, after all.

Apparently satisfied with his arrangements, Stone steps back and surveys the table next to the couch; a tablet, their beverages, the chocolates open and ready to be eaten, and the artifical rose set up in a glass next to the card. Nodding to himself, the man turns and then stops, smile deepening a little. “And where am I supposed to sit?”

“Hm?” Surfacing from clapping himself on the back in praise, Robotnik blinks up at him, then casts a glance where he is taking up most of the couch himself. Ah. Alright, they need a bigger couch, he grouses, pushing himself upright…

And then he stops, frowning. Or, do they? After all, he had only recently registered that Stone is not opposed to being the one held, instead of doing the holding.

This could be prime conditions to test that theory further.

“Doctor?”

“Sit here,” Robotnik demands, pointing in front of himself.

The smile on Stone’s face wavers, tilting into lopsided while he blinks rapidly. “…Where?”

“Here.” To make it more clear, the doctor pats the space between his legs; scooting back further into the pillows, he demands, “Come on now, don’t be shy. I can take your weight, easy.”

“Oh.” It is basically visible how Stone mentally shuts down a bit. His lips part around nothing, and his breath stalls a little before he gulps. “If you’re sure-…”

" Stone ." The word holds a mixture of fondness, exasperation and a great deal of laughter.

It shakes Stone out of whatever stupor he had fallen into and he laughs, sounding relieved. “Right, of course you are sure.”

“Always am. Come on.” To drive the point home for good, Robotnik mimes making a greedy grabbing motion at the other. “Bet you it’s more comfortable than standing around all rigid like you’re doing.”

“I’m not rigid,” his sycophant mutters under his breath, but he finally – finally! – moves to step closer and lower himself down where he is directed to.

Immediately Robotnik’s genius brain starts cataloguing and picking apart the experience, ever-hungry beast that it is. He notes how carefully Stone lowers himself down onto the furniture, as if he is afraid that it will break – or the doctor will break.

He also observes how much he wants this, himself; distantly surprised by it. Touching his partner has always been a pleasure ever since they have entered into an intimate relationship, so exciting yet relaxing both. But now, this? Robotnik feels his hands twitch with the need to wrap back around Stone, to hold on tight and catalogue all of those sensations as well; warmth and welcoming and very much alive under his touch. To have this feeling of savoring again that he had felt when he had hugged the other from behind in the kitchen.

But something is not quite right yet. Back then, Stone had been utterly relaxed; a sensation Robotnik had soaked up with glee. Right now, though, his sycophant is all tense . Back straight and sitting at the very edge of the couch, as if he wants to flee.

Or as if he is not sure of his welcome.

Really now. How is the genius supposed to observe this new setting in its entirety if Stone is so unnatural about it?

If you want something done right, do it yourself, Robotnik thinks with an eyeroll.

Wasting no more time, he snaps both of his arms up and wraps them around Stone, all but hauling the other backwards against his chest. There is little to no resistance of course – tense or not, his partner knows his touch, knows to lean into it instead of away from it.

There is still a tiny, surprised huff when Stone collides with him, and he breathes out a little oh as if he has not seen it coming.

Left yourself open again, dances on Robtonik’s tongue, but he swallows it down with some difficulty. It seems like it might make the other think this is another one of his “pranks”. Instead, he settles his chin on Stone’s shoulder – the other had liked that before, yes? – and strokes a palm over his solar plexus, aiming for soothing. Unsure if he manages it. Still, he entreats, "There, see? Nothing bad. Relax ."

“I dind’t think it was something bad,” Stone assures him immediately. Now that he has the permission, he seems to actually loosen up in small increments, allows more of his weight to rest against the doctor’s chest.

At least for this, the copious amounts of adipose tissue has some benefits, the doctor notes with glee. It was to be argued that his former skinny frame would have been anything but comfortable to lean against like this, all sharp lines and hard edges. Much like his personality.

Then again, he reflects with a half smirk while he glances over at Stone's face, lit up with clear pleasure, his former assistant has always managed to work with that difficult personality, too.

He is starting to feel like Stone would be comfortable with anything Robotnik has to offer.

Still, he cannot help but prod a bit at the other, “But you are surprised by it.”

“Well, yes. You don’t usually go in for…” Stone trails off, making a vague hand gesture at nothing in particular.

“Hugs?” Robotnik offers with a half-smirk. Hey, he might not like the juvenile term, but he is utterly aware of what he is doing right now.

Of course, his sycophant cannot let that stand like it is, and instead teases right back. “Oh, is that what we are doing?”

“Mrrrm. Yes and No.”

“… What is the No part for, exactly?”

“This is obviously in part for convenience sake,” Robotnik announces, wrapping even more around the other, making himself as heavy as he can. With his chin, he points at the table that Stone had put so perfectly in arm’s reach. “You can reach the chocolates, right? Then you can feed them to me.”

That startles a bark of laughter out of his sycophant, which in turn finally relaxes him fully. He is still chuckling merrily when Robotnik turns his head and presses his smirking face into the crook of the younger’s neck.

Like this, he can soak in even more sensations. The vibrations of Stone’s laughter in his chest and his throat; the flutter of his pulse in his carotid artery. The warmth of him. The curve of his cheeks when he smiles. The scent of him – a hint of coffee, sweat, motor oil and something uniquely himself. All of it gets taken note of, gets memorized, and then sorted into the ever-growing database on facts that Robotink has been collecting about Stone and maintaining with a dogged persistence; aiming to complete it, but in no hurry to do so.

Above him, the laughter putters off slowly, and Stone lifts a hand, carding it through the wild mob of reddish-brown hair. “What do you want to watch?”

“Eh.” Not even bothering to lift his face from that warm place, Robotnik shrugs. “Just put something on that we don’t have to focus on.”

A chuckle shakes them both through. “Alright. Let me take a look at what is on offer today.”

There is rustling and movement below and around him while Stone hunts down everything they will need, which is luckily all in range. Robotnik does not help in any way, content to hang off the other as if he is now the barnacle out of the two of them; fast working mind still observing and analyzing and cataloging.

He hears the telltale sound of a tablet clicking on and Stone’s fingers snapping over the screen, searching for something. There is a ping of a notification coming in, and a thoughtful hum as Stone seems to change track and goes for that, instead.

More scrolling, fingers tapping, and then -

Sudden silence. Beneath Robotnik, Stone goes utterly, eerily still. His muscles tense, breathing stuttering in surprise.

It ruins the utterly comfy vibe they had going, and when he does not snap back out of it in a few seconds, Robotnik makes an impatient, questioning sound and nudges him with his nose.

That shakes Stone out of it and he breathes in slowly, deeply. Clears his throat and asks in a suspiciously strangled voice, “ Doctor?”

“Mrhm.” Why does he have to talk right now? He’s so comfortable…

“Where, exactly, did you get me those chocolates?”

Stopping where he had been burying his face back into the perpetually warm neck of his sycophant, Robotnik lifts his head enough to blink at him from the side. Stone seems – not unhappy, but his lips are pressed together, eyes creasing slowly.

Laughing? Suppressing it?

Intrigued now, Robotnik straightens up further, leaning forward to get a better look at that happy face. “A mall nearby, why?”

“I… would have thought you would order something like this.”

“How?” Despite himself, the doctor snorts derisively and shakes his head. “Delivery would have been too slow and unreliable. I could have sent a Badnik if it was just a simple pickup, but since I still had some research to do for it-… but why bring that up now?”

“Well, for one, because I appreciate it even more now that I know that,” Stone explains, finally turning his head enough so they are nose to nose and eye to eye. This way, there is no denying the grin that is slowly stretching over his face, briefly knocking Robotnik off balance while he blinks at it. So taken by it is he, he nearly misses when Stone adds, “And second – someone recognized you.”

There is all an but audible screeching of brakes when the genius’ mind catches up to that and stops entirely.

“Someone what?!”

As if in answer, Stone holds the tablet up, now shaking with mirth – which Robotnik absolutely does not understand. Being recognized is a bad thing! They are on the run still! Isn’t it his sycophant who keeps telling him that they are laying low here, sheesh -…!

But still, because it is ingrained instinct by now to look at what Stone shows him, he snatches up the device and takes a quick look at the evidence himself.

And then takes a second one. And only then starts reading slowly, eyes widening and jaw going slack.

The tablet is opened to the side of one of his “Huevo Diablo” social media accounts, right beneath the announcement Stone had sent over breakfast that today’s stream was cancelled. Sorry about that, yadda yadda, see you next time, blablabla.

And there is the comment section right beneath, and that is the really interesting part of it. The first few comments are harmless, but then it starts spiraling out of control very quickly.

Aw no stream today?

Maybe he is spending day with St0ne

You really think so

No chance

I still got my money on them being a couple

GUYS EXCITING NEWS! DOC SPOTTED IN THE WILDS – BUYING VALENTINES STUFF

WHAT

No way what

Where

Pictures or it didn’t happen

No pics but my friend works at the place and she swears it was him. We’re in San Francisco

tell her to take pictures man

dude that was yesterday what you want

I bet hes buying it for St0ne

What did he get!

At this point, Robotnik stops reading, having seen entirely enough. He shoves the device back at Stone, who catches it easily in one hand – and ignores it, instead intently focused on whatever the doctor’s face is doing right now.

When nothing is said for a long time, only the grind of teeth to be heard, Stone asks unbearably gentle, “Do you want us to relocate?”

“Start the autopilot,” Robotnik presses out through grit teeth, rubbing a hand over his face.

He does not look up to see if the request will be followed; he knows it will. Instead, he stares blankly into space, jaw working while he reflects on how utterly stupid he sometimes is, for a man of his brilliance. He had thought himself so smart with the disguise, and the gift giving, and his little stunt he pulled before leaving the mall. Now? Now, he feels like a consummate imbecile of the lowest order, for god’s sake-…!

His whirling thoughts are neatly interrupted when Stone pushes back into his space, slipping into it as if he belongs there. Back meeting the doctor’s chest, he scoots around to get comfortable, then grabs Robotnik’s wrist lightly and pulls the arm around himself. Turns and does the same with the other limb.

Robotnik lets him, blinking down at his barnacle a bit owlishly, but absolutely not displeased. There is something heartening about the way Stone manhandles him to get closer, as if they have settled already into this new hug business.

Once he is apparently satisfied with the arrangement, Stone tilts his head back so he bumps against the doctor’s shoulder and announces with a half-smirk, “You know, now I feel a bit better, to be honest.”

It takes a second to sink in, and when it does, Robotnik snorts loudly. “ Better? About, what, exactly – me making a fool of myself?”

“When did you ever do that?” Curt, dismissive; as if the thought alone is ridiculous. “No, I meant – now we both got seen through by your fans at some point. Me for making heart eyes at you, and you when you try to remain undetected in public. It’s fair, I think.”

“Fair,” the doctor repeats slowly, tasting the word. For once, he immediately understands what his sycophant is trying to do for him; he is trying to cheer him up by ridiculing himself. What once upon a time would have tasted like pity and would have made him flip, now only fills him with a gentle warmth, easing the pressure he has felt gathering in his shoulders. Snorting a little, he pulls Stone closer again and lets his chin drop on his shoulder hard while he grins. “Nope, yours was worse, Mister I am a trained agent with an unreadable poker face.”

“I quit long ago-…”

“Bzzzt, nope, does not count. Your poker face sucks, end of story.”

“Around you, yes,” Stone retorts immediately, grinning widely while they rehearse the old and well-known argument.

Smothering a laugh, Robotnik rolls his eyes at him and knocks his head lightly against his sycophant's temple, a silent hush.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while. It is gently interrupted when Stone turns a little more, craning his head so they can lock eyes. “I really appreciate that you went through all this,”

“You damn well should.” Gaze darting to the side - he had enjoyed the ability to stay unseen in their previous position - Robotnik pulls a face of utter disgust. “It was atrocious, demeaning, and I was about to incinerate the entire joint that sold it before even buying anything.”

“I would have understood if you did.”

The answer comes so fast and without a hint of teasing that it makes him pause, and glance back at the younger with a raised brow. “…You would have?”

“Of course,” Stone frowns right back at him, as if the question is a strange one. “I don’t know which mall you picked, of course, but based on the grocery shopping I did lately, it was probably overloaded with awful decoration and terrible music. Probably too many people, too. I’m amazed you managed to stay in there for longer than five minutes.”

“… Half an hour,” Robotnik mutters, absentmindedly, gaze glued onto his partner to study him in silent awe.

“Oof,” Stone sounds utterly sympathetic when he breaths out sharply and pulls a face. Reaching for the formerly abandoned tablet, he closes the social media and the autopilot, then instead pulls up another control set and begins to type in rapidly.

Different shows and streams flit along the surface, and finally settle on something. The screen on the opposite wall flickers to live, and the episode list of La Ultima Passion appears on it. Looking a over his shoulder at the doctor, Stone shoots him a crooked smile. “Let’s take your mind of that experience, okay? Where did we stop last time?”

“Season three, last episode,” Robotnik points out, still only half there. He is still wrangling this newfound – or remembered? – knowledge of how easy this all is. Not only did he manage a shopping trip for Valentine’s gifts, he has managed to hand them over and gain Stone’s approval, all without bungling it completely. And to top it all off, he had readily admitted that he had hated the whole outing enough to threaten arson. And instead of laughing at him or reacting offended, Stone had agreed.

Agreed. As if this is a normal reaction; an understandable course of action, instead of the thought process of a madman.

It is… remarkable, how his partner manages to handle everything the evil genius presents him with, be that ingrained insecurities the sze of Mount Everest, or angry outbursts that threaten to destroy entire cities.

This entire time, Robotnik has waited for the other shoe to drop, to do or say something, anything, that will put Stone off and ruin this entire holiday, but it just… doesn’t come.

He is starting to think it will never come.

The thought sticks with him, even while Stone turns back to his task and flicks through the episodes to the right one. It is not an unpleasant feeling; not a bad thought. But persistent, and demanding attention

Well, attention it can have.

Squeezing his sycophant closer to himself, Robotnik presses his face against the crook of Stone's neck briefly, breathing him in, before shifting so he can speak freely again. "Stone,"

Having pressed into the touch with a hum, Stone mutter distractedly, "Mhm?"

"I'm thinking about trying this whole Valentine’s thing again next year," he lets the words drop between them, lets them linger while he listens to his sycophant breathing in deeply. Surprised . Only when Stone relaxes slowly again does he continue on, "Any feedback on the matter? Suggestion for improvements? Constructive criticism is allowed for once."

He more feels than sees Stone pause, going still while he obviously thinks. There is something halting in the way he starts speaking, "Oh. Well-…"

Something about it takes Robotnik back to a conversation they had days ago already, and he frowns as he remembers Stone’s exact words

“There are better sources than me, for sure."

Oho, nope. Nu-uh. He won’t let that fly a second time. What better source on this matter could there be for him other than his sycophant, his partner? The only man who evens bother trying with him?

Shaking his head against the younger man’s shoulder blade, Robotnik squeezes him around the middle once, sharply, and orders lowly, "Don't tell me to research again.I want your honest opinion."

Anothr pause, this time longer. He cannot tell what emotion Stone is radiating, surprise or confusion, but it is a strong one. It lessens when the man sighs quietly and then puts a hand over the doctor’s, rubbing a thumb against it. "I wasn't,” he assures quietly. “But... Since you didn't actually put your preparations to work in the stream, it is hard to tell what could be improved-…"

The … what? Blinking, Robotnik runs that through his mind again, trying to parse how they went from talking about this to the stream-

Oh, wait. Had he told Stone what exactly he wanted to try again?

Maybe he should have been a little clearer there.

Laughing quietly, if at himself or at the other man he does not quite know, Robotnik squeezes again, interrupting whatever Stone had been about to say to wheeze out through a chuckle, “ Stone . I wasn't talking about the stream ."

What follows is the longest pause of them all up until now. He tilts his head and watches intently how the knowledge what he means slowly dawns on his sycophant; a veritable light bulb going off over his head.

Once it does, Stone’s cheek flush slowly, a smile twitching around his lips, and he looks like he has been startled and pleasantly surprised both at the same time when he murmurs a breathless, " Oh ."

That expression is a familiar one by now and one he so loves to tease out of the ever stoic man. Robotnik grins sharply in delight, poking at the other’s ribs. "Blanking out again?"

“No,” Stone denies on instinct, then snorts a bit. “Okay, a little.”

“One of these days, your brain will fry, sycophant. And then what do I do with you, hm?”

That only gets him an unimpressed look before Stone laughs, scratching at his cheek. “You would think of something, I’m sure. But honestly, I thought – you hated the experience of going shopping for… all of this.”

“You got that one right.” He agrees dryly, before shrugging and talking over whatever kind of see I knew it his sycophant is gearing up for: “But I endured it once, I can endure it twice. Or three times. Numerous times, even. In fact, I might get better at it.”

“Of course you will.”

“And my gift choices weren’t bad for a beginner, eh?”

“They were amazing.”

“See? We are in agreement that I am a natural at all this.” Extraordinarily pleased, Robotnik nods to himself. “So in turn, that demands an even better repeat performance every coming year. If you got any special wishes, let me know.”

Stone hums, smile ever present, eyes warm when he shakes his head at the antics of one big genius.

All very nice , of course, but not what he is looking for. As impatient as always, Robotnik pokes at the other man again. “I meant now , sycophant.”

“Ah, right, sorry.” Stone snaps back to attention, spine straightening when he sits up. He tilts his head to one side, then the other; gaze darting to the table where their presents lie, and then back over his shoulder at the doctor. He ahrugs, a little seheepishly, and finally admits, “I’m… really trying to think about some helpful feedback but-..."

"Yes?"

"... well I'm sorry." Stone is beaming as he says it, sounding not sorry in the slightest. "But I can't. It was perfect, so I can't think of anything."

Hmmm. Leaning back a bit, Robotnik studies him intently, a frown drawing his brows down while he ponders that. "Only perfect ?"

The smile on Stone wavers at the sight of his expression and he mirrors his frown. "Isn't that... enough?"

"No," Robotnik denies immediately, sharply. When he sees his partner flinch a bit, confusion turning to worry, he softens his tone. "Not from you."

They stare at each other for a beat, a silent conversation between them; the skill of spending years upon years so close together.

Then Stone's expression clears and he grins openly, only barely wrangling it back into a half-serious expression. "Oh! I'm sorry doctor, I misspoke. I meant to say it's magnificent , of course."

Immediately Robotnik relaxes, lips twitching into a smirk. "Better. Don't make such stupid mistakes, Stone."

"Well after everything today, I'm a little distracted-..."

"Oh so now it's my fault!" The doctor exclaims, rearing back abruptly while he gasps in fake outrage. "As if it is not the fault of one clingy barnacle that we even ended up in this situatuon in the first place-..."

"This situation?" Stone's smile only stretches.

"...because you just don't know when to quit, you old overachiever," Robotnik finishes undethered, keeping his expression carefully the same.

For a moment, Stone simply looks at him with a fond look that screams really? Then he quirks a smile and shrugs, voice lowering to a gentle murmur when he answers, "Like I said: I have high standards. Accept only the best."

... Oho! He knows what his sycophant is doing there with all this sincerity. Well, this time, it won't work; he is getting better at keeping his mind about himself in the face of all that devotion. Smirking in a truly sinister way, Robotnik reaches over to cup - not grab - Stone's jaw, pulling him in a further inch. Nose to nose, he rumbles with a teasing quirk of his brow, "Funny. So do I. "

He knows he has landed a clean hit when Stone's breath hitches audibly, eyelids fluttering slighly while a blush spills over his face. Any teasing is washed straight off his expression and he only looks flustered and deeply pleased.

Perfect. That had been the reaction Robotnik had chased all day; the knowledge that he had made it loud and clear what he thinks of his partner.

Pleased beyond words, the doctor hums and leans in that last little distance, capturing the slightly parted lips with his.

To his surprise and offense, however, instead of melting like he should have, Stone leans back a little; only enough so he can speak around mouth chasing his. “Doctor, did you not want to watch the -”

Oh, that - alright, maybe he hasn't entirely beaten his clever sycophant yet . Robotnik's surprise is forgotten when he sees the teasing glint in Stone's eyes, and he bares his teeth in a half-smirk, half-sneer, “Bzzzt.”

“Alright, then what about the choco-…”

“Bzzzzt!”

“Are you going to keep doing that?”

“Are you going to keep talking about boring things?”

“You mean, like, root accesses?”

“Oh for god’s sake – Shut up, Stone.”

“Make me.”

That manages to actually startle Robotnik and he rears back, narrowing his eyes at the younger man. He did not just…

But he just did; and instead of retreating, of apologizing to make it right again, Stone is grinning widely, boyish and flushed with pleasure.

Somewhere deep in his chest, contentment so deep that it becomes a physical sensastion blooms. Robtonik rumbles a growl full of it while he cups that radiant face in both hands, studying it intently to commit it to memory, as well.

Only once he is satisfied does he grin sharply, and roll with a jerk to the side to reverse their positions. Now he is no longer holding Stone, but pressing him down into the cushions, looming over him while he fights a grin. " Fine . You asked for it, cheeky barnacle."

"Absolutely," Stone answers readily, eyes glittering like stars and smile so wide it must hurt.

Studying him with a hint of wonder, but mostly amusement, Robotnik shakes his head at him. After some comtemplation, he leans in until their noses brush and whispers, "Have I won you over yet?"

For a moment, Stone seems taken aback, before his expression softens, smile gentling. "Did I make you doubt that?"

"Yes or no question, sycophant."

"Of course the answer is Yes." Stone looks torn between fond exasperation and real amusement. "You didn't need chocolates and flowers for that; you had me years ago already."

"Hmmmm." Chuckling a little, Robotnik leans back in, grin barely hidden by his moustache. "Would still be nice to get in writing."

A bark of laughter bursts out of Stone, shaking him through still when he leans in and nudges their foreheads together. "For your resume?"

"For my personal pleasure."

"I can write it down if you want."

"Do that," Robotnik agrees, voice lowering when he leans in. "Later."

Whatever agreement Stone had been about to give is swallowed when their lips meet in a slow, savoring kiss. Still not their usual, Robotnik notes distantly while he buries a hand in Stone's hair to slot them tighter together. But he can manage unusual for once. Slow and gentle things, or unpleasant things.... doesn't matter.

He finds he can manage a lot of things, if it is for Stone.