AN: I actually wrote smut for Valentine's Day and I hardly write smut at all.

One-sided Zonic x Sonic, based on Lenmeu's fanart on DA.

If you don't like reading about…masturbation, then yeah, I wouldn't really recommend you reading this. I'm sure there's other fics you can enjoy without reading badly-written porn (cause I'm not really experienced in it and I don't care too much to be experienced in it cause I very rarely if ever write it.)

And God, excuse the crappy title of this fic. I didn't know what at all to name this fic because I didn't want to give it some dumb porn name or whatever for some reason so I just chose a random song title from my music player which sounds like a total fanfiction cliche but I name a lot of my fics after songs I like anyways.

Happy Valentine's Day.

The sound of marching footsteps were near, as the soldiers of justice aligned themselves before the great, vast computer screen of All-Knowledge, the All-Knowing, the All-Powerful, and they stomped their foot, saluted, and marched right out the door, looking for more criminals trying to upset the balance of the zones. Zonic had looked at the screen in undying admiration, his eyes glazed with the face of the All-Knower, and he knew in this mission where he was assigned to catch a very dangerous and sadistic criminal that was infamous in the Zone Cop Head-Quarters, he thought over the possibility that he could die. He weighed the matter carefully. He had many years of training. Zector and Zespio had always helped them when he needed it. But his eyes couldn't drain away from the eyes of the All-Knower, and his hands had trembled slightly, trying to mask the anxiety by drinking a lukewarm coffee and a roll of a cigarette after he bummed a pack from Zector. His hands scissored the cigarette deftly, the quaking hands unknown to them, but they were very noticeable to him, and his heart had continued to tremble in his chest like his hands, and his head had perspired and his eyes wavered. Chaos be damned, he cursed softly in his mind. I could be dead.

Dead, dead, dead. It was an eternal thing. A universal thing. All things died. Every zone, every planet, every star, have dying things, and he considered when a star exploded with a super nova, they died too, and the black hole was all the hatred that remained in their soul, sucking everything up and destroying what they considered dear.

He could too.

Everything could die in his hate.

He expected the lunatic in the zone to die, but sometimes, you couldn't consider those things absolute. Calculations weren't always complete and well-thought and true. He calculated and planned his criminal's defeat to both the Zone Prison and the Zone Ward (if the criminals were insane), but the criminal he faced had a long slender tooth that extended all the way to his white furry chin, the eyes searing of hot melted gold, the tail that bended and allowed him to leap higher than the zone cops could ever jump, and guns, oh he was crazy about guns. He collected them. .22's, AK-47's, rifles, even ones that the Zone Cops weren't permitted to use. His vast collection of guns and his vast collection of dead zone cops that he decorated his hallways with (their bones, so to speak, of how they failed their duty to protect and serve), and the weasel had often thought of some bizarre delusions, that he had the biggest diamond in the world underneath his rusty orange home. Sometimes he believed he was God. Sometimes he believed he was a Zone Cop after skinning them alive and laying their organs on his mantelpiece.

A sick bastard, no doubt, Zonic said as he sipped his cold coffee.

His hatred seemed to grow. Things falling apart, he believed, in his near mid-life crisis. He was no longer a resolute angel of mercy even to criminals who only made a minor infraction of the law. Maybe they didn't know about that law. But he acted as if they were a long, thin, bony stick and he took his knee and snapped their spines. The scream of pity! But he never took any pity on who he considered the pious. He tasered them. Shocked them with bolts enough to give them their own form of electroshock therapy. Enough to maybe kill a cow in a slaughterhouse. Zector and Zespio had noticed his ruthlessness becoming more prevalent, but they weren't sure of what to do. They often told him to seek help. What kind of help? Anything! Anger management! Stress therapy! CBT! DBT! ECT!

Maybe he was just stressed out. That could be all there is to it. Just stressed about how he felt alone. He rarely discussed much of his private life to Zector and Zespio. The cigarette was running out, the red light nearing his red fingers, and he only stabbed it out and thought. Thought some more.

My life could end in this mission.

He worked in the Zone Cop business for about 10 years. A veteran. Zespio had been around longer, had shown him around, had shown him what the zone cops had to deal with. Often it was a very ugly business. Many criminals were just as ruthless as he had become. Especially one green hedgehog who was now in jail, believing he would be there til the zones had collapsed like a tree struck by lightning, but some of these criminals had their ways. They could escape, as they certainly weren't stupid. There were many times where they outsmarted the System. The All-Knower acknowledged there would be a few errors in the System, and it was its job to clean it up, tick tock goes the wires, the chrome gears, the pendulum, the springs and the heart of the machine beating to keep the Zones alive. Machines were wry things, but they weren't godlike. A few viruses were caught in their threads. And it was ultimately Zails' job to fix it.

He got on the database of his computer. The blue screen with the white frozen lights often hurt his eyes in the growing darkness, but he swore his vision was never affected by it. He sipped his arctic coffee, hearing if Zector and Zespio had come back from their lunch break. He told them he decided to forego lunch, as he made a huge breakfast. Of course, it was a farce. A lie. He simply said that so they could leave him alone in the dark, with the computer's gentle beeps and buzzing, as he gazed at his visual files and watched as the rest of his crew went out to eat their saturated fatty lunches, still expecting the criminals to not use the police officer eating donuts cliche and the fat pig allegory.

The computer kept alluring him to the honey of the visual files, the beeps and purrs of the machine vibrating his every being, the surge of blood arising in his head, in his pelvis. He saw his face, the face of his widely grinning hero that he always wished to be, the hero that he admired, the hero that he never would be.

Because he would be dead soon. He knew he would be dead. He felt the rapidly growing tides of age beginning to affect him, he believed he was getting old even when his body was so ripe and so young, as the blood soon rushed to his erect penis, and he gazed at his smiling face, wondering what he had that he didn't have.

You fucking bastard…

He gently glided his hand on his cock, looking at his so confident face, his bragging rights that he saved the world, when he could only save zones, the zones that seemed to be so insignificant in the little tree of the universe. There were so many zones, millions of zones, he couldn't possibly save them all, goddamn him goddamn him goddamn him!

I don't know how I would ever become the man I am without you…but yet I grew to…

He rubbed faster.

He could feel the vibrations excite his soul, invigorate him, electric sparks lighting up his heart, the beating beginning to match the speed of his hand.

You don't know how lucky you truly are, do you? You don't take things for granted. But I do. And I wonder how I could be…just like…you.

He could feel the semen rub off his hands. White-stained hands, yet covered with the blood of his veins and arteries as he stroked furiously, his face redder, drenched in sweat that it crawled down his nose and from his head to his eyes, and he continued to look into his picture as well as he could, before the sweat had stung his eyes and had been replaced with small slivers of tears.

I want to enter inside you. I want to lick you, kiss you, love you the way any passionate man would, by shaking the covers off the bed, intensifying every fiber inside you, make you become alive, make you even more godlike than you already are…

Closer. He was getting closer. The sweat rolled off his chest, he heaved and panted, his hand was beginning to grow tired, but he could feel the euphoria begin to seep into his brain, at last, at last, oh Chaos almighty I'm free at last!

If you were here right now Sonic…I would make you covered in this.

He came, as the semen stained the screen, rivets dripping off the blue and white screen, his smile even covered by even more gleaming teeth than before. His mouth was a gaping gash into a void deep inside his love and devotion for him, and as his heartbeat lowered, his skin no longer tingling with sweat, his hand resting as he drank his disgusting icy coffee, he wiped all evidence away from the screen with the best screen cleaners and disinfectants he had, and washed his hands of the white-handed deed.

If he ever went back to his zone, would he love him back?

Would he even glance at this rusted scarred body of his?

He had to stop thinking about it, at this moment.

Zespio and Zector were coming back. He heard their marching feet as he looked at the databases of his simple police work, as if nothing had changed, nothing had occurred at all in this lone, dark police station.

"Come on Zonic, it's time to go!"

"I will have to warn you Zonic…this is no ordinary criminal we're dealing with."

"I know," he said, as his heart rested inside, regulated to a normal pace. He didn't feel so afraid of Nack the Body Snatcher any longer, and his eyes felt weary, exhausted of the strenuous effort he pulled unknown to both his friends.

I don't know if I'll make it out back in this station, safe.

I don't know if I'll ever meet you again.

But remember this Sonic.

I shed part of my life for you.

And one day, I hope you will do the same.

In blood or your tears or your sweat or your saliva or even your love. It doesn't matter to me.

Even if you just cry for me when I die, that'd be enough.

That'd be enough.