Chapter Text
Cross barely catches Dust's words in the back of his mind as he attempts to shut said mind off for a moment.
"Elevated SOULbeat. Erratic leyline sparks. Suit-wide cooling triggered by an on-setting fever, joint tension-" Dust pauses as it clicks, a flicker of a static passing through the chest of his hologram as he stares dead at where Cross sits against the edge of a nearby console. "Are you seriously horny right now?"
There's an accusation in his tone, but Cross just shrugs with one shoulder, the armor plates shifting with a soft clang.
"Not horny," he replies matter-of-factly. "Just lonely and tired."
Another wave of static passes Dust and the newfound knowledge of the Forerunners he'd been so invested in (before he'd noticed and started listing Cross' 'symptoms') forgotten (or at least relegated to the background processes) with a lowering of his shoulders. He reaches up and adjusts his scarf. "Right... Still not very good timing, is it?"
Cross can only shrug again. "The doors are on a timer, basically. It'll take a few hours for the reactors to recharge themselves enough for the facility to on-line again. Sleep's as good an idea as any."
Dust glances up at the vent shafts lining the central chamber of the facility. Then he runs through the motion sensors and only feels a little calmer when they don't pick up on anything. "Want me to administer adrenaline boost? That'll stave it off."
But Cross just shakes his head. "No. My body will demand it sooner or later. Might as well be now, with nothing better to do."
"I- Well, alright. I can administer tranqs instead?"
Another shake of the head. "Don't bother. A natural nap's better than anything else."
Dust pauses for a moment, and despite the fact Cross hasn't moved since his shrug, he can clearly see the readings of the suit's systems. His skull flushes and he fiddles more with the scarf, before bracing himself. "Well, I'm here."
It earns him a cock of the other's helmet, the glow of the hologram reflecting off of its surface in brilliant shades of pink and orange.
"I can help you," Dust says when Cross doesn't, "If you want."
And, of course, Cross is all over the offer, like he always is. Even without the readings, the way he sits up a little straighter is a dead giveaway of his sudden excitement. "Yeah?" he mutters, voice an octave lower.
Dust makes himself comfortable by the edge of the holopad, sitting on the very edge of it without fading out and only getting broken up by static from time to time. "Take off that codpiece," he tells Cross, staring him down like he can see straight through the suit, and then straight through Cross' bones right down to his SOUL.
Cross shudders against the soft lining of his suit's pressurizer. He rushes to comply, fumbling with the hatches holding the piece snug against the others, fingers scraping the edges of his greaves.
A moment of tugging later, he has the piece separated, the purple metal thunking on the floor as he shoves it away. Without the full seal, the pressurized liners adjust to give him more space to move, which he uses immediately to summon his ectobody, filling the space right back up.
It shines faintly through the bodysuit he's wearing, and it's a good thing he'd taken the codpiece off already, with how tightly his cock strains against the fabric. He inhales shakily, almost forgetting his audience until Dust chuckles.
"Eager much?" he asks, taunting as ever.
"Y-yeah," is all Cross can bite out, because fuck, yeah he's eager. It's been ages, and his magic couldn't be satisfied on adrenaline and artificial boosters only.
"Get the microsuit out of the way, then," Dust commandeers, licking across his teeth when Cross starts doing just that.
His fingers slip from the zipper a few times, the thing too small for his armored fingertips, and he thinks on how he'd never tried to do this while he was dirtied up. He has a feeling slippery blood on the metal would render it actually impossible. But eventually, he gets a grip and slides the zipper down, and with it is able to adjust his cock through the opening.
A sharp hiss escapes him when the cold air hits the sensitive magic, the cock twitching before he grips it at the base to keep still.
He looks over at Dust and, like the good super soldier he is, Cross-010 waits for more instructions.
Dust's eyelights are trained on him and he'd shifted his legs apart. One of his hands is between them, fingers gliding almost absently between the bones and back out again.
"So pretty," Dust tells him, and it has heat rushing up to Cross' skull just imagining what he looks like, in full gear sans the codpiece, with his cock splayed out and dripping all over himself. A picture the command would just love.
Dust doesn't tell him what to do, not yet, just lets the statement hang in the silence between them, so Cross' fingers flex and he drags them up the length of his shaft. At the tip, he squeezes down, dragging the flat of his glove over the weeping slit and groaning out into the suffocating heat of his helmet.
"Fuck," Dust breathes out, sounding like he can feel each brush of metal and mesh over the sensitive cockhead like it's his own cock in Cross' hand. Fuck, with the way he's tapped into Cross' suit and systems, that might not even be too far off from the truth of it. "That's a good boy. You can go faster, can't you?"
He can. And he does.
His glove makes a slick sound as it spreads the copious precum over the length of his shaft, too loud even over the shifting metal. Not the most quiet endeavor, but it doesn't matter. Dust would tell him to stop if anyone - or anything - came to crash the party.
Dust mirrors the way he bites at his lip on the upstroke, movements slower to offset the faster slide downwards, and his own hands move faster between his legs. The hologram's crotch shines brighter now, and from time to time, when one of his legs shifts, Cross can catch a peek of the cunt he'd decided on stretching so prettily around his fingers.
A minute passes, heat pleasantly pooling in Cross' gut, tighter and tighter as he drags himself leisurely to the peak, deciding not to be in any rush this once.
But Dust doesn't seem to share in that patience, his browbones scrunched as he looks between Cross' cock and his helmet, teeth pulling downwards a smidge.
"Lose the helmet, Cross," he says. "Now."
Cross barely contains his whine, but he needs both hands to unlatch that, and he's forced to let go of his cock in favor of fumbling with more hatches, the slick all over his hand making it twice as hard. But he does, because he likes being good, and Dust had given him an order.
He's pretty sure there's no need for it, Dust can simply look at the internal comms camera if he wants to see Cross' face, but once he gets the thing unhooked and off, he can't complain anymore.
The helmet joins the codpiece on the floor off to the side somewhere as he gulps down fresh air greedily, the room cooling him down and making him realize just how stuffy it'd become.
"Damn, you look so good. Look all fucked out," Dust observes, underlined with something that might or might not be awe. "Were you close?"
Cross thinks the answer is pretty obvious, but still, he nods. And doesn't waste any more time in wrapping his hand around his cock again, bracing himself against the console with the other. His hips twitch up into the touch, fucking up into the tight ring of his fingers. His voice comes out all gruff when he says, "Yeah."
Dust swears under his breath, near inaudible, and Cross notes the way he hunches over himself a little, hand twitching as he curls his fingers. "Fuck, okay. Won't edge you a second time, then. Come on, big boy, make yourself cum. Let me see it. Let me see you."
The words cause a shiver to travel up the length of Cross' spine, then back down to settle somewhere in his gut with all the rest of the pleasure.
With how intensely Dust's watching him, he wants to put on a show, especially when the AI's asking so nicely.
His hand picks up speed, the fingers of the other one curling and digging into the cover of the console. He's probably leaving grooves in it, but if firepower hasn't made the things blow up already, a bit of cosmetic damage certainly won't.
His thumb swipes over the head on each stroke, the very tip of his thumb digging into the slit, the fabric rubbing over the sensitive opening making him gasp out quiet moans. The fire in his gut bursts back to life and he feels even closer to the edge than before Dust had made him pause.
It really has been a long time.
A few more pumps, a few twists of his wrist at the very base of his cock, and Cross is coming. His cum spurts out in heavy globs, landing on his chestpiece and over his flexing stomach, drenching his hand further. He's quiet throughout it, save for the miniscule whines he can't hold back as his hips keep twitching up on their own, fucking himself and dragging the release on.
"Shit, I could watch you come forever," Dust admits, his voice laced with static and a little more echoey than usual.
As Cross coaxes the last few weak spurts of cum out of himself with tight upstrokes, he watches as Dust reaches his own peak, the way he shoves his fingers as far as he can inside of himself, jerking and stilling with a long groan.
The audio system cuts out for a moment, overworked, and Dust leans back, braces himself with his free hand on the holopad like he could fall right through it otherwise.
Cross' mouth feels dry. He licks over his teeth and swallows heavily, but it doesn't help the feeling much.
Dust's slumped in on himself, catching breath he doesn't need as his legs twitch, and cum drips steadily from between his legs and down the edge of the holopad, down down down until it reaches the boundaries of the hologram range and disappears off into nothing in a flicker of static.
He looks good like that, Cross thinks to himself, cataloging the look in his mind. It's only fair; he's more than convinced Dust has the whole thing recorded to replay at his convenience.
A moment of silence, and then Dust gets himself back under control and stands up. Cum is still dripping down his thighs and he looks like it doesn't bother him in the slightest.
Cross groans as the visual makes his softening cock twitch.
"Alright, would you like the tranqs now?"
Cross laughs airily. "Yeah, sure, why the hell not. You seem hellbent on drugging me, and who am I to keep arguing with the all-knowing AI?"
"Oh shut it. The Forerunners left us so much information, you can't blame me."
"No, guess not." Cross grabs his helmet and reattaches it back, the HUD blinking back to life and showing marginally better vitals than half an hour ago.
He's barely over checking through the statistics when he feels a prickle at the base of his nape. A glance towards Dust and he knows he's done it on purpose.
"Come here," Dust tells him, so Cross pushes himself up to hobble over to the other console before the chemicals take effect.
With a flourish, Dust rises off the platform enough to press a kiss against Cross' cheek, phasing straight through the helmet. There's no feeling aside from the warmth of the lights brushing his sensors for a moment, but still Cross revels in it, sockets fluttering shut as he smiles.
"I'll wake you up when it's time," Dust promises him. "Get some rest. Oh, and put your codpiece back on, yeah?"