Stein is climbing a hill on the edge of the city when Spirit catches him. He is heading to the forest and that is all Spirit needs to know; his ultimate purpose is something the weapon's mind shies away from, and it is unimportant at the moment anyway. He must be feeling some of the inexplicable connection burning in Spirit's mind, because he starts to turn well before he can possibly hear Spirit's approach.
At any other time, on any other day, Spirit would consider the flash of emotion on Stein's face as a victory, as a battle won in his incessant war on the meister's composure and corresponding distance. But there is no room in his head for that, so when Stein takes a step backwards in an unprecedented display of fear it barely registers in Spirit's mind. He closes the distance, keeps coming until he is well within Stein's comfort zone, until he is well within his own. The years of accumulated knowledge in his head tell him that their proximity will make Stein much more uncomfortable than he, that this is an advantage to him even though the meister's extra height gives him the edge in sheer physical intimidation.
Besides, the expression on Stein's face says that intimidation is the last thing on his mind right now. His body is stiff with what looks like fright, his weight rocked back on his heels like he's going to start running at any moment, and his eyes are startlingly wide with something that appears to be panic behind his glasses. Spirit has only seen the meister look like this once before, when Stein startled back from unexpected physical contact, and then it was so brief that he barely processed the reaction, but the image has been lurking in his memory and that is exactly what Stein looks like now.
Spirit opens his mouth but there is simultaneously too much too say and nothing at all to say. For a moment his forward momentum flags and fails while he struggles for language, but then he rallies with the only possible thing he could say at this moment.
"What the FUCK, Stein?"
Stein blinks at the expletive but doesn't move or react otherwise. Now that the initial words are out, though, Spirit is rolling down the steep incline of righteous fury and devastated trust and he is not sure that anything can stop him.
"We are partners. I am supposed to be able to trust you. I did trust you, I've trusted you for years, even when you didn't talk to me, even when you ignored me, even when you destroyed things just because you could. I trusted you anyway, I thought I was the exception, I thought you cared about me, and all this time you've been experimenting on me?" He bites off the syllables, he is almost spitting every word, and his volume is rising and Stein's eyes are going wider but he can't slow down or regulate his volume at all. "I felt sorry for you, I wanted to help you. I felt bad for abandoning you, I felt guilty for caring about anyone else, as if you cared about me at all."
Stein licks his lips. The motion screams uncertainty; Spirit almost doesn't recognize the emotion because it is so bizarre to see it on Stein's face. "Spirit -"
"Don't you dare." Spirit is not sure he has ever been really, properly angry before, but the emotion is raging through his body now and there is no pulling it back. Part of his mind is cringing in fear, and he is fairly sure he will regret his words and his actions later, but most of him is right there with the fury, screaming into his meister's wide-eyed fear. "I have done everything I can to help you. I have been there for you for fucking years. I have cared when no one else did, and you've been -" He can't say it again, can't meet Stein's gaze even though he knows it's backing down to look away, and when he breaks eye contact he realizes he is crying and doesn't know when he started.
"I have -" Stein starts again. Spirit turns back to him, steps so close that his foot comes between Stein's and that their hips are pressed together, so close that when he angles his head up to look at Stein he can feel the meister's too-fast breathing against his mouth, and he reaches up to grab a handful of Stein's coat and hold him where he is.
"Did you even care at all?"
Stein's face is awash in panic and fright, but that slides away at Spirit's words and the weapon can see the meister's face collapse into total, agonized pain. He looks at Spirit like the older boy has just stabbed him, like he is about to cry. He takes in a breath around a sob and as close as he is Spirit can hear the tears in the sound, can see the meister's lip tremble with barely-held emotion.
Stein's hand comes up to shove against Spirit's chest, the force hard enough that it sends waves of pain through the bruised cuts the meister has inflicted on him, and then his fingers tighten into a fist around the loose fabric of Spirit's shirt and he pulls, and Spirit tips forward, just barely, just until he catches his balance, but they are very close, and the movement crushes Spirit's mouth and teeth against Stein's lips.
Stein sighs against him, the sound purring with the satisfaction of fulfilled anticipation, and for a moment Spirit is frozen in place by shock and unexpected pleasure and confusion, and then he remembers that he is angry and he shoves Stein away hard. The meister stumbles backwards as his fingers release Spirit's shirt; he only barely keeps from falling.
"What -" Spirit tries to call up the rage of a moment ago, but Stein has stolen that from him, pulled his feet out from under him and destroyed his expectations and now he's lost in the breathtaking clarity of the moment. That in and of itself is enough to lend fuel to his fast-fading ire, though. He sets his mouth in a firm line, straightens his shoulders, recenters himself over his feet. "What are you doing?"
Stein's hand is at his mouth. His eyes are shut. His face is the closest to peace that Spirit has ever seen it, the tension of restraint gone so he looks his age for the first time the weapon has ever seen. Spirit can see him suck in a breath, can see the ragged edges to the exhale when it comes, and then the meister opens his eyes. The very motion of his eyelids is languid, slow and satisfied, and it is nothing to the expression in the green of his eyes. Stein looks at Spirit like the weapon is an object or a tool or death itself and there is nothing in his face but raw desire, the way that someone craves ownership and possession of an inanimate thing.
Spirit's newfound rage roars in him at the implication in that expression even while his blood fires in response to it. He is moving before he has thought his actions through, coming back in to Stein's space, seething and flushed in equal parts.
"How dare you," he manages to get out before his hands ground themselves in Stein hair and he pulls the meister's mouth to his. He's not quite in control of his body, but his mouth seems to know what to do and for a minute there is just the aggression of teeth and tongue on Stein's surrendering mouth. There is some vague idea in Spirit's mind to reclaim his agency, to prove that he is the active party here, but the heat rising in him is rapidly outweighing all other concerns. Then he pushes too hard or bites a little too much and tears Stein's skin and the taste of copper fills his mouth, and he pulls Stein's head back by the hands in his hair and tries to recollect himself. But Stein bends backward, lets himself be forced away, and his hands are clinging to Spirit's arms like he can't stand up on his own and his neck is a smooth curve so Spirit can see the half-panicked pattern of his breath and that's it for the weapon's rational side. Rage and desire crush into a single sensation, impossible to distinguish, and his hands are against Stein's waist and pulling at the meister's hair and his mouth is on Stein's throat and jawline and mouth and Stein's skin tastes like tears and blood and Spirit's vision goes hazy as his focus shatters into pure physicality.
