Prompt:

"Chelley, all the way.
My kink is yearning.

Perhaps a solo round, or a good cry over bad memories followed by comfort. Something with an ache for a person's presence, or gentle touch. Maybe followed by a kind fulfillment of that wish.

A word that is said as a sigh, a prayer and a whimper would be perfect".

Rating: M

Genre: Romance

I do not intend to take ownership of anything more than the story presented here. Portal belongs to Valve.

Heatwave

Where did it come from?

Everywhere around him an oppressive pulsing surged from somewhere, hidden between layers and layers of blue, constantly sending an irresistible sensation, shaking him to the core. Just when he is starting to discern its origin, it comes again, with the same force and absoluteness, reigning completely all his attention.

It made him feel breathless, even though he was sure that here, there was no need to breathe. The only thing he needed was more of it, more of that magic, more of that bliss, to be kept alive.

It was beyond physical, it was mental, an addiction. A need with a high glut, he wouldn't be sick of it even in surplus, for he was happy to receive more and more.

Even though he had been selfish with this in the past, something tells him this is an act of cooperation, of trust. A test. He wants to be grateful, to see the image of the being who provides him this sensation, to maybe reciprocate if it is in his possibilities.

The heat hugs him gently, spiking up and up as the waves retrieve and meet him, eager to make him feel cherished and deserved.

Where did it come from, the pulsing?

A strangled breath takes him out of his resting position, not quite sleeping, but somewhere along the lines.

It´s too hot to sleep. The air conditioning has been broken since Wednesday, and he doesn't want to risk his luck with the landlord asking for a new one, the grace of letting him live here instead of calling the nearest mental asylum is enough, he has earned the right not to listen to a peep coming from him for at least another month.

But it´s so unbearable.

He feels every drop of sweat connecting to the filthy mattress and sheets, constantly sticking and leaking to everything without stopping. The air is heavy with vapor from the city landscape, making it even harder to rest. The clock reads mushy numbers, he takes his glasses from the nightstand and disappointed, realizes that only two hours have passed.

When will this end?

He has been living -surviving, really- in this city for two months now and he still doesn't know what to do next. His plan was simple after waking up in the wheat field: come to terms with the fact that now he was made of flesh, walk on to the nearest human town (if there even were any left, he didn't know how much time he had spent trapped down there) and find a place to stay while he thought the next steps further.

He had been lucky in the first ones, surprisingly, after the initial shock, coming to terms with his sudden mortality and all of the orifices that went with it hadn´t been so difficult. He already knew what being damaged and in danger of a core failure felt like, his pain receptors were pretty fateful to the real pain they were based on (he discovered that after almost ripping his nails out of morbid curiosity), and seriously, She was trying to threaten him with death? He had been afraid of death for as long as he could remember! As he saw it, She had done him a favor, with these new legs and the freedom of going anywhere he wanted. He flipped the shed off to the best of his ability, given that he wasn't really experienced with fingers, and ran off, the Sun shining on his face.

It had taken an entire day and the discovery that something was living inside his stomach for him to find a town. The welcome hadn´t been too warm, all of the humans there looked at him as if he was a defective turret running down the investor´s hall, but he had managed. He eventually learned -quite quickly, if he did say so himself- the basic mannerisms these bald monkeys used to interact with each other, and after spending his first night in what seemed to be a refuge for those who had no home like him, a big part of his plan had been complete.

Where does he go from here?

There are a lot of things he still doesn't know, like places to go or where to ask for help. He couldn't stay here, living from the pity of the people on the church or the patience of his landlord, the one that was growing short with each passing day, not even the pleas of the church sisters (who for some reason found him worthy of their charity) were enough to satiate his demand of proper payment. He felt he was a nuisance; he couldn't stay any longer.

But he didn't have a plan, he felt lost without a compass, a purpose; just "living" was not enough for him, he was rubbish at improvising.

He decides he can't do anything about that now, and frustrated tries to go back to sleep, giving his mind a stop. Tomorrow there will be time, for now, he just wants to rest.

The sheets stick to his skin uncomfortably, the air is still heavy. There is something behind his eyelids that stops them from closing, and even though he is exhausted, he can't seem to find a position in which he can rest.

A very strange phenomenon occurs, something that has been going on for months now, a thing he can´t quite explain. It's like when in his old chassis, he focused his optic on a strange object or string of text, and a speech bubble appeared in his vision, containing all of the information the engineers had provided for him to check when needed.

There were moments like those, minus all of the data and the internal ping of a task well done. He knew the basic concepts of hygiene thanks to those messages, that´s why his first encounter with water back in the church hadn´t ended in disaster for everyone involved, something inside of him told him the clear liquid wasn't meant to hurt him, but to bathe him.

They were not limited to handy advice. Sights in the garden, stargazing, eating something spicy, or that time when he encountered a person who seemed to have the tongue as scrambled as him, judging from the accent. They couldn't be data recordings, as far as he knew humans had nothing but a squishy sponge inside their heads, he figured that if all humans had this thing, they would have talked about it often, it was quite difficult to ignore.

They were, how could you call it? Memories.

Memories from another time. Passages, notes left there for him to revisit later. Made by…whoever had this body before him.

The scenes hit him again, reminding him of a similar experience. The heat, insomnia, the never-ending pulsing. He closes his eyes, curious about what his mind has to offer.

There are flashes of warmth, of care. Hands alien to himself appear, not as a threat, but as a gift. A spark ignites in his chest at the kinetic memoirs, burning charcoal travels along his spine and settles in his legs, spiking his hips. He shakes his head, embarrassed, recognizing the sensation.

He doesn't know why, but he knows this…itching is better to be left alone. Humans are so full of needs and attention that he would have gone crazy without this internal software to help him, constantly wanting and hurting. Most of them could be attended shortly, like food and water, shelter and medicine.

But this, nothing had worked. It always assaulted him alone, where he couldn't distract himself from it, demanding attention. He supposed there was a way to calm it, but his references had been cut short in that aspect. He was always left with a feeling of unsatisfaction, like unmet need, and the pulsing. Always the bloody pulsing.

"What the hell do you want from me, mate?" He asks to the night, impotent.

As whispers, the images and feels come back, an answer.

There is expectation in the air, a pause emitted by the same source that pleads action. Purples, reds, satin curtains, and the now-familiar feeling of warmth envelop him, encouraging. There are so many signals he doesn't understand, like the crawling inside his head and the vulnerability that comes with being exposed, but he continues down the corridor, his curiosity winning over the embarrassment.

There is…trust. And heat. Too much heat.

They had just returned from dinner when things started to get out of hand. Oh, her flirtatious looks, she was good at hiding excitement. He was a tad bit better though, a thing that both teased and exasperated her as if his attempt to prevent the taxi driver from seeing something private told her that she should just keep it in her pants and stop being so overwhelmingly open about her own thoughts. What a fervid girl, she was.

He had been a pray from the moment they arrived, closed to the world, in a domain only them could share. It constantly amazed him how behind the mask of a reserved and stoic persona, she had so much warm blood that it could fill pools, oceans. A facet only he was allowed to see, to share. To worship.

It had been all mushy from there, maybe caused by the loss of his glasses, lying somewhere on the ground after the first tackle had pushed him to one of the walls, where a beast dressed in blue had decided to pour all of that build up momentum accumulating in dinner. Had he really teased her so much? The fact that only a few movements and furtive glances had the power to make her behave like this made him feel extremely proud, touching dangerously the terrain of sin.

Oh, but how could he help himself? She was frantic for him. And for him only.

She didn't have claws, but she ripped every garment with ease as if her hungry glance was made of knives. He just cooperated and went along, expectant. He was curious about how she would have his way with him this time.

"In a hurry, aren´t we?" He said, not even trying to hide the playful tone in his voice.

He had broken her out of her frenzy, and now was receiving an embarrassed glance from below his chin, an angry brunette fuming mad at both herself for losing her balance and him from stopping her.

"What´s wrong, love?" he said, genuinely concerned "I-I didn't want to discourage you, you were going so well-"

It was his nervousness and apologetic babbles that made her hair stand on end. The kiss broke him out of his stupor, the softness of it speaking paragraphs for to her, apologies in her demand, and a promise of dual cooperation for release.

God, that sounded good.

Clumsily and in the dark, they found the bed, a soft support they would critically need if they didn't want to end up with cramps or back pains in the morning, as if the ones that came for granted with these matters weren't bad enough.

What he lacked on initiative she made up in desire, and soon the heat returned to both, languidly enveloping the two in a reverie where only touch and sent could be taken into account.

There it was. The heat, the sweat, the aching fatigue and need to rest, the unwillingness to do so. And the pulsing, that now he realized, was in time with his own heartbeat. In his ears, in his head, in his hips. A rhythm that wanted to match another one, to form a symphony in this new and somehow nostalgic memory.

He wants something, this body wants it. It´s as critical as food and water, shelter and medicine, and the voice inside his head tells him that the payoff is huge, so very worth it.

There is something there, not only inside of him, encased in his ribs, but below, where a strange pressure pleads to be addressed.

He swallows hard, suddenly nervous. He looks around him with shame, not entirely knowing why.

He palms the stiffness softly, half expecting that he feels the touch with great detail. He lets his hand circle a bit there with shy motions, scared to awake the neighbors if he somehow manages to damage it and by extent, himself.

The urge waits patiently for him to take confidence, each minuscule touch setting much more certainty the burning coal in his veins, surging slowly like lava. The night sings a song for him, a melody he thinks was made to be tasted in company.

The pinch comes to a stop, where these discreet touches cannot move it further any longer. He bites his lip, so very anxious and bewildered about what is coming next. He takes away his trousers with reluctance, and hangs them by the end of the bed, as if making time.

The issue is even more prominent without the cloth to hide it. It looked kind of ridiculous, to be honest, he could have laughed if the heat hadn't made his throat all gravely and hoarse. Did this happen often? He hoped this incident would swallow the flames for a little while, so he could forget about it again and keep his head on other matters.

Well, here goes nothing.

He palmed the stiffness again, the heat emanating from it surprised him, even though it shouldn't have. He takes the last piece of clothing slowly, leaving him in just a light t-shirt, exposed and incomprehensibly, more frantic.

She was gentle with him, always. He didn't know why the almost aggressive demeanor changed when they were on the verge of falling apart as if even in this she had to be the one in charge of herself, not her impulses or urges. He thought he had demonstrated time after time that he could handle her at her worst- if you could even call it that- but he received her attentions with open arms. It was like she was giving him special treatment, making him feel cherished and safe, making up for her inability to show affection out there in the open.

It was cute.

He takes it in his hand shyly, the pulsing, and his heartbeat intensifies at the sensation of touch in that part of him. It's slightly smaller than his hand, the tip of it brushing his fingers. He notes with fascinating horror the reaction the touch has on him, and somewhat enthralled and scared by it, he closes his eyes, waiting for the memory to tell him what to do.

There is trust and heat. And her. Always her.

She had picked him up really, she had the tendency to try and fix broken things. She hated when he talked about himself like that, but it really felt like it sometimes. She was not the reason for his existence but…he wanted her to be with him when he discovered it. He wanted to show her, to amaze her. To make her feel the things she would make him feel with only a touch or a kind word.

He wanted to reciprocate and to be with her. That´s all he ever wanted.

She dissolved at his touch in her waist, holding him closer with an iron grip that could be turned into cotton with a single word. He thinks he is going to explode right then and there; he draws her near him with insistence, a plea. She laughs softly and looks at him, wanting to hear him say it one more time.

"Michelle, please"

He puts her hand deliberately there, a firm pressure makes her open her eyes, pretending to be surprised. He takes her other hand and redirects it to his heart, where the panicked little animal tries to escape his ribs with every pulsation.

She smiles at him knowingly. There is heat beneath her legs and a wonderful pull binds him to kiss her again, his arms fail at multitasking between drawing her near, stroking her thighs, and holding her face. A low hum of appreciation rises from deep within her heart, making him know that his efforts have not gone unnoticed.

His breath comes out in short pants, the vividness of this passage is making him crumble little by little. Is not only the electric frizz that went through his chest at the image of this other person looking at him so heated and hungry, making his sweaty skin fill with goosebumps, but the knowledge that this had happened before, many times, probably daily.

This was part of a routine, as important as keeping yourself fed and active, seeing the sun, or feeling the breeze. He wanted it, he wanted to remember, he needed that piece of normality back, to appreciate it in nights like this.

He wanted her, whoever this her was. And this hidden part of him, the one that was slowly guiding him through his internal software, told him that she had wanted him too.

A moan breaks out of him when he holds himself with a little more pressure on accident. Or impulse, he doesn't really know. He circles the tip with his thumb, he notes absently that it has gotten a bit bigger. There is moisture there, and although it would normally discourage him, it makes another scene surface, this one making him absently trust up as he growls.

"I-I, it´s hot in here, don't you think? Yep, feels like burning, no, scratch that, melting, I´m melting, down here, I don't think it's healthy, not really an ideal situation to be in. N-not to force you or anything, don't want you to feel bound to do it but, ah, it´s starting to hurt, actually. I-I don´t exactly know how it feels for you, since, well, different situations and all that, the beauty of it all, if you will, but I-I can´t- "

She guides him down with her, grey irises burning with unspoken urgency. She doesn't have to speak to let him know she is aching too, the closeness of a certain part of her is draining all of his self-control with the need to join him to her but…he has to wait. She takes her time, sure, but the results have never been disappointing.

"Ow, ow, slow please, don't want to ruin it, no, definitely no, it has gone well so far. And thanks to you, I might add, you always find a way to just make it happen. I myself am more of the reserved type, nothing wrong with that, but I guess it makes it difficult to make the first move. D-do you think I should try that more? I-I actually have no idea, would you like that? For me to be ah, a bit more active? Maybe, we could try, if that´s what you want, but for now-"

She´s close, so very very close, and he thinks he is going to whine again because she is doing this on purpose, he can tell.

"T-this would be just lovely, the way it is".

Oh, he is going to make her pity him so badly she will feel guilty for days.

"Ah, Chell, Michelle please."

Without noticing, a sentence escapes him, as his grip on the base becomes even tighter. There is slick wet everywhere, constantly leaking and lubricating the strokes until they make him feel dizzy. He is short-circuiting, he is sure of it, he can feel a peak starting to approach with every thrust. It´s frightening him, and he wants desperately to face it with another one, he wants this person to guide him, to hold him while it washes him away and her with him.

For the first time since arriving in the human world, he feels genuinely alone.

She silences him with a kiss as he enters her, a sharp moan of triumph is lost between the two.

He can feel her pulse around him, her beautiful smile dissolving into a grin full of love. The waves become taller, unreachable, drowning him in pheromones and instincts, binary code integrated into every cell of his body wanting and needing for the final act to take action. She is there every step of the way, her warm breathing on his ears encouraging him to do better, to show her how much he has learned, guiding him through a realm that seemingly makes no sense.

There are flashes of liquid nitrogen, her feline eyes keep him grounded through the recollection of scents and sounds, so he doesn't feel astray. Her heartbeat matches his own for the first time, and he thinks she can hear his thoughts from their connection, a cluster of cries and grateful omens that exit as trembly moans from his sore throat.

The peak arrives and everything becomes unimportant. He desperately clings to her in hopes of guidance, crying out for mercy. It´s always much greater and fantastic than he is prepared to face, no matter how many times it happens. She acts and keeps him grounded, stunned from the intensity of it all, panting like an idiot.

There it is, the culmination of all things.

She follows soon after, the feeling of him tensing and relaxing setting her on edge. It´s something beautiful, way up there with ecclesiastical paintings and a compilation of sunrises. She twists and claims her prize elegantly, her sharp nails digging his skin and marking him as hers once again, and he stands above her, offering her the same assurance as she does every time.

She relaxes beneath him, the warmth produced as she reached her peak abandons her in short puffs, giving her skin the illusion of glow. She looks up at him and her eyes seem beholden, she gently caresses his face with her tawny hand, and he dissolves right into it, humming gently and kissing the terrain with abandon.

"Thank you," he says as he lies next to her, enjoying the feel of her still-warm skin beside him.

Her eyes blink slowly, returning the feeling wholeheartedly. He marvels how lucky he is, considering how many times destiny has proven that his happiness and satisfaction are not exactly the top priority. These moments, the euphoria, and her sleepy smile afterward feel like a prize, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, making all of the journey worth it.

As he falls asleep in her arms, he comes to the conclusion that all of the paths, eventually conduct to her.

"Oh god-"

The sentence escaped him without much thought put into it, but he decides that it's an appropriate reaction.

A sticky substance is hanging by the tip of his fingers, he makes a grimace and cleans himself with some tissue paper he had lying around on the floor. He notes with satisfaction that the issue is back to normal, the itching is gone, and he feels a bit sleepy, but try as he might, he can´t rest.

The things his mind had shown him, were real, as palpable as the bed below him. The culmination had been splendid, but it bothered him that it felt so similar, practically identical to that… another thing. There had been no build-up back then, there just were moments of congratulation and punishment, but the payoff had felt the same, probably even better.

And that woman…he couldn't stop thinking about her. He had felt safe, in-home, with a purpose. Her eyes and silhouette reminded him of someone, but he couldn't put a finger on it right now, he was all mushy from tiredness and he just wanted to give his mind a break.

An idea hammered itself with full force in his chest, taking all of his free space and urging him to do something about it: he had to find her.

He didn't know how long it had been, if humans even had the capacity to find each other with signals as robots did or if she would be able to recognize him, but he had to find her. He wanted her there with him, watching over his every move and decision, her sweet touch and a gentle smile. He wanted her as he had never wanted anything in this body, something told him that she had the answer to everything he could ever ask.

"Chell" he murmured, every vocal coming out of his mouth like caramel.

He repeated himself in different frequencies, filling the hot room with the essence of his dreams. He could repeat it as a mantra, even if he didn't know the exact significance of it just yet, he was determined to discover it soon enough.

He drifted to sleep, his skin aglow with expectation and hope. Wheatley sent a last message to the night sky, thinking that by some chance, in the vast expansion of Earth, she would hear him.

He was going to find her, no matter what. Deep inside, he knew she would do the same.

A/N: HEY THERE! I am not dead, as you see, I just have been in a streak of beginning fills and then not having the motivation/time to finish them. I am not going to lie, I don't know when the next one is going to come, but if it does, I assure you it will be the best result I could create. The wait will be worth it.

OH BOY, this is the first time I write something smutty, I hope it didn't come out too horrible. I have reread this guy like 10 times and got one of my friends to review it (she said she liked it), but I still want to know what you guys think about this.

I love gen as much as anyone, but c´mon, 8 chapters in and we still didn't have something kinky for the kink meme? Better start with something I like, so I can get myself accustomed to it, I have a lot of ideas floating around, but for now, hope you enjoyed this!

Thank you for reading.