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ROBOTONIK
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Day - March 27th
11:30 am
Breakfast was a quiet, tense affair.
There was not enough coffee in the world to go round to make things right, nor enough calming camomile tea to stop his anxiety from rising to the surface. There was not enough French toast (or brioche), or eggs, beans, hash browns, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, bacon or any other possible breakfast addition to satisfy the hunger of a lonely, heartbroken man. And whilst he did not verbalise any of these things, nor show any discomfort towards Stone in any way - other than to merely say that he had had a rough night, and that he was overtired, and had had a lot on his mind - the insinuation was still there.
Stone certainly noticed, after a time, that his partner was not quite himself though he did not press the matter further. There was just a deeply uncomfortable silence between them, and the morning air suddenly did not feel quite so fresh as it had done before.
The atmosphere was so sharp that it could've cut itself without the aid of a knife.
Every tiny fork clink echoed like glasses colliding loudly, being smashed against one another. Every soft pan scrape was like tin buckets being banged for the pigs to hurry up and feed, every natural exhale of light breathe was like horses rushing through heavy waters, and the sink filling to soak everything was like a tsunami on a building site.
Every attempt to keep the conversation going, felt like a prison warden's expectation of forced peace between the father of a brutally murdered six year old girl, and her vicious psychotic kidnapper who had no intention of showing any mercy of the sort, and who revelled not only in the killing, but the now disgusting injustice of his freedom.
Every attempt at peace resulted in more silent noise, and the louder the quiet became, the louder the noise.
Suddenly, the washing machine - having whirred and ticked over gently, on a low spin - came roaring into life rattling the countertops and knocking into things. Painfully drawing attention to the fact that he, Stone, had obviously been a very busy boy that morning, getting many domestic jobs done - with no thought of saying good morning to him at all, as though nothing had happened. While he, Rob, had been up all night frantic with worry, before collapsing into bed with exhaustion.
Stone having snuck in again at early hours, after apparently having had a great time, with no thought for him at all. Treating this luxury cabin, his generous finances, his endless patience and kindness, his deep trust, his tender love for him and their intimate relationship like a cheap one night shag in some grotesque back-alley hostel alive with disease, cockroaches and drug addicts. Free for him to come and go as he pleased, and disregard anyone he pleased as he saw fit, leaving them in the dirt like trash.
The microwave dinged loudly for the second time, having heated up a wheat bag, painfully drawing attention to the fact that 'breakfast was now done,' and 'Stone was going to bed.'
Right. So that was it then.
They were done.
The automatic robot floor cleaner peeped and bumped into things like a stupid child, demanding attention where none had been earned, and shouting (non-verbally) about crap that it couldn't do because 'it didn't feel like it' and 'there was a crumb in the way' and 'daddy didn't say I had to.'
The kettle rocketed with boiling water, screaming and whistling it's traumatic psychedelic nightmares for the world to hear, like an escaped asylum seeker. The hot water being for the bucket on the floor next to the mop obviously, and the bottle of bleach.. why...? ...Why was he cleaning? So hard? In a pristine kept kitchen used only a couple of times a year? The list of jobs went on, as he looked around and saw how busy he was making himself. But why?
.
Did he really hate talking to him that much?! Did he actually dislike his time spent with him?
Was he missing home? Did he resent him for keeping him away from his little sister?
Was this some kind of power struggle between them? Was he trying to gain some kind of control?
Could he not stand the hygiene standards here?! Did he feel trapped, on this island?
Was he stress cleaning? Was he in trouble, or hurt? Had something happened?
Did he think he was too good for them?! Or was this escape to a remote place a horrible mistake?
His anxiety gripped him again with its tight vicious claws, with its unyielding hold. He actually felt suffocated, and as though he was being shoved out the way like an unwelcome bull in a china shop, kicked out of his own kitchen, his own cabin. And as the sheer cacophony of noise completely overwhelmed him, and the atmosphere thickened suffocatingly, he felt forced - like an agonisingly shy autistic child put on edge during a major meltdown - to withdraw back to the safety of his quiet space upstairs.
.-.-.
Day - March 27th
12:30 pm
Despite everything, he suddenly found that he no longer cared about what had happened that night, or so far on their journey anymore.
The full nights exhaustion had taken hold of him, and he wanted nothing more than to sink back into their warm double bed (if he could still call it theirs) - beneath the puffy red, maroon and white country-chequered duvet - and drop right off to sleep beside his partner. He didn't want Stone, as he was right now or who he had become lately, but his partner. His actual partner - where had he gone?
He was not one to show - or admit to having - emotional feelings easily, besides resentment, but as he rubbed his weary tired eyes - he was getting too old for this - he felt.. rather lonely and abandoned. Angry with frustration, injured pride, worried sick, let down and.. dare he say.. neglected? He felt he had done everything he could, so far, to grant him at least a little privilege of keeping things to himself, respecting his privacy and his space, and his sudden constant need of solitude and isolation - two words that could mean two very different things.
Not to mention that he had given him his trust, his deepest and most ultimate trust, and that was a most generous offer even on the most basic, most restricted of levels.
But as he lay there, curled up and vulnerable, buried under the duvet all by himself, feeling all alone, rejected and backstabbed in every way possible, a great wave of emotional pain and depression hit him from somewhere far down below, a nasty reminiscent feeling of his childhood, a feeling like the worst was yet to come... and he trembled a little, unable to hold back a small sob of fear. He gripped the pillow hard, buying his face into it and holding it against him, trying to calm his raging anxiety and avoid an internal panic attack.
He was not going to let anyone see him like this. He was not going to let anyone make fun of him,
or hurt him beyond belief, or treat him in a sickening manner or belittle him. Or degrade him.
Not anymore.
All of a sudden he wanted to be held, and cuddled, and rocked soothingly, which wasn't something he was used to admitting to, not even with Stone. But he wanted close comfort, soothing reassurance, some love and gentle clarity that.. they were ok... that he wasn't going to leave him and, perhaps even a little affection? He wanted his princess back by his side for him to kiss and cuddle in return, to hold dear to him like a precious pet, to trust him with his everything, to make up with and move on, to read to and be read to, and hum to and be hummed to, and totally torment and boss around, and lovingly insult, and tickle and mess his hair up.
He was curious, what exactly Stone got from it when he tickled him, (which he probably didn't do nearly often enough, now he thought of it, but which he longed to, always. God he craved it.) He couldn't get enough of his baby's wild cackles and squeals and shrieks of laughter, his wriggling and feeble kicking, and frantic begs for him to quit it when he squeezed his ribs at lightning speed, or switched quickly between belly and armpits, then blew raspberries on his belly as he targeted his ribs again. Yet he seemed to enjoy it so much, and the endless giggle fits he had didn't seem to bother him. In fact his little caramel eyes seemed to light up in excitement and delight, and follow him round the room. Every. Single. Movement.
...Did he really like it that much?
He wanted Stone to spoon him from behind, and be spooned for hours, and for them to nap together peacefully all day enjoying their time together if even in drowsy silence - sometimes the most intimate form of love. Letting one's guard down to enjoy curling up like a puppyish mush and not care what people thought or did about it.
He wanted to slowly strip for him, perhaps even slowly strip him, if he allowed it... right down to those cute little lace panties that he had been wearing... carefully cutting them off with scissors, and taking away his protection... unwrapping his present...
He wanted to blindfold him, to tie him to the bedposts, to a chair, a table, anything... just so he could fuck him into next year.
To tickle him in one of the worst and most maddening spots ever with ostrich feathers... Could he take it? Without squirming, and fidgeting? ...While being scolded for getting turned on? While he was supposedly being punished?
His mind was drifting...
His hand had wandered downwards...
His eyes were slowly closing, in paradise...
He hadn't wanted to do this, not without Stone being here,
but the temptation, the requirement, it was so fucking strong...
Too fucking strong...
He even.. he was sure he would never admit this out loud though.. had curiously, and very cautiously, pondered what it might be like to let.. someone like.. someone he could trust, like Stone... maybe... possibly... even tickle him back? Just a little bit... just to see how it felt, to see whether it felt good or not, and then to be given such a hot ultimatum.
He wanted to kiss his sweet little nose and lay his large, warm skilled hands on his chest, gently telling him to breathe. God he wanted sex with him badly, he craved it like crazy, he didn't know how much more of his teasing and absence he could take. Was that it? Was that what he was trying to do? To drive him crazy and make him beg for it? Well he was not going to beg.
He wanted his sweetness by his side, his baby, his schnookums so that (his) nipples could be teased, stroked and for a gentle throbbing in his groin, just enough to seduce him and send him to sleep, like a warm evening drink would with a light sedative effect to it.
He wanted to be looked after again, just for a while, and babied - or pampered, should he say.
No, not pampered exactly, nor babied, but cared for. Looked after. Loved. A part of him greatly missed Stone padding about after him, pawing at him and constantly trying to get him to eat or play with him. Perhaps he just missed Stone... perhaps he just didn't see the point of anything anymore... Perhaps he was just tired, beyond all meanings of exhaustion...
Perhaps he needed to sleep.
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Day - March 27th
12:30 pm - 13:30 pm
Stone padded after him in his soft socks for a while, and his caramel hoodie and denim Bermuda shorts, feeling cuddly and warm and at home with the floorboards creaking cosily under his movement. It had been a good night, and so many things had happened, so many things he felt ready to share with the doctor now. He felt a little excited, and so excited was he at the prospect at what was potentially going to happen, that he was completely oblivious to everything around him.
He eventually came quietly upstairs with the wheat bag that he had prepared for the doctor (and a hot water bottle.) It was his, but it helped him with headaches and stress, and he had thoughtfully put it in the microwave to bring to his partner. Clearly Rob had not slept well, and he felt guilty for going out late at night again, but as his excitement and general good mood could not do anything to spoil his revelation, his discovery, he hadn't looked into it too much.
The hot water bottle had been put inside his toy bat cover, a present from his little sister one year, something he was particularly fond of and very protective over. He would cuddle it at night sometimes, and imagine that he was close to her. But he was giving it to Rob to keep him warm and relax him, as he had clearly overworked himself on the sly, and stressed himself out. They would be having words about that - he was supposed to be resting. That's why they were out here, was it not? So that he could have some much needed rest. That's why he hadn't taken anything with him, so that he could get away from it all for a while?
He tiptoed upstairs and opened the door a crack to check on him, before padding in across the floorboards, avoiding the creaky ones as best he could. He sat beside him on the stool for a few moments, quietly watching him drop off to sleep properly. His eyes were closed already, he was clearly unconscious but not deep enough for his liking, not yet. He watched and waited, protectively, until he was satisfied that he was slumbering and his breaths were less and more relaxed, before carefully lifting the duvet up - quite like a mission on Christmas Eve - and laying the bat beside him, pressed up against his chest, and the wheat bag just under his pillow.
The doctor might have heard some soft sounds, from somewhere far away in his dreams, and others like control sticks clicking lightly (a games console), and the low sound of the washing machine below them, and a glass being set down on a wood table (a bedside cabinet.) There was the occasional light sniffling, and exhale of breath or low mumble, but none of these reached him. Not really.
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Day - March 27th
17:30 pm
When he did finally come round, and sensed that Stone had come to bed and settled down beside him, he froze. His breathing stiffened, his body stiffened, and his anxiety clung to him still, a looming sense of dread and doom as though he had done something terribly wrong.
He felt a little hand touch his shoulder, and he froze trying to readjust his breathing, from the slightly raised rate - practically the start of another anxiety attack already.
"Doctor?"
A little sad and worried voice spoke to him from behind, and he swallowed hard to try and stop the 'hay fever' from returning. The terrible hay fever that only chose opportune moments like this to appear. The type that would prick his eyes, and burn his throat and hurt his head, and make his eyes water and..
"Are you ok?"
Oh god. Not that question.
He went to inhale quietly, and a ragged breath sounded loudly. Shit.
"Doctor?"
Oh shit.
He was crying.
"...Hey, hey, hey!"
He hadn't cried since.. well, not since..
"Sweetheart..."
He thought he had been crying very quietly...
Strong warm arounds and legs wrapped around him and held him close, as Stone shushed him and loved him for a time, before gently asking him to roll over. But he didn't want to. He was ashamed, and he had no idea why. He felt scared to death that he was going to leave him, to look at him and think him pathetic, stupid, ridiculous, and..
"Please, look at me..."
His voice was heartbroken and pitiful.
He bit his lip hard, he couldn't bear to hear such sadness in his voice, how could he still be angry with him?
Finally he decided to be a man about it. He took a deep breath, and went to sit up, and as soon as he glanced sideways with burning humiliation and timid embarrassment, he felt more leaks. Why was he being so fucking weak? He was a control addict, a real man, not some campy pansy sailor boy or wimpy boy-scout with warped ideas of the whole world. He had to get a grip!
Stone's injured expression nearly killed him, in fact it felt like he had. The next thing he knew, the boy had practically grabbed him and pulled him into a fierce bear hug, had laid his cheek on his head, and was rocking him and shushing him as he cried and trembled quietly, and clung to him.
Stone had never seen him cry, and he was ashamed that he was doing so now. He was ashamed. He felt disgusted with himself.
And this, he told himself bitterly, was what damaged goods felt like - and he was damaged goods...
What the hell would Stone want to do with him?
