Work Text:
It’s no surprise that Barry Nyne has a talented mouth.
Sidney’s known that for nargons now, ever since he first went down on her and she came so hard he had to poke a ballpoint pen in the slot behind her ear to restart her processors. He’s a good kisser, great at talking dirty, an expert at finding the most sensitive places on her synthetic flesh to sink his teeth into, leaving marks like a dental mold.
(More than once, she’s needed to borrow Margaret’s blowdryer to melt and smooth out the places where he’s marked her up. But she likes to leave them for a few days, at least.)
When he asks to fellate her gun-arm, she’s excited just to see him try. Even if he can’t fit the barrels in his mouth, he’ll get points for effort in her book.
“You like it?” Sid asks, tracing his face from temple to jaw with the end of her assault cannon arm. She’s got him on his knees in front of her, stripped of his armor, soft and sweet and just scrumptious. She wants to devour him.
“Yeah,” Barry says, half-lidded eyes flicking up to look at her from beneath his lashes. “’S pretty, just like you.”
“Aw, I’m blushin’,” she teases, running the muzzle over his lips. He whines, low in his throat, and a part of her wonders if maybe her original design wasn’t so unmarketable after all. Maybe Handy Andi just didn’t have the right target audience. Seems like there’s plenty of folks who like a little danger in the bedroom.
Marketable or not, she’s glad to be who she is now. Glad to be the woman drawing all those breathy little noises out of Barry Nyne. He makes her feel— well, not human, that would be a pretty lousy way to view her journey of self-actualization, wouldn’t it, if she were constantly comparing herself to a whole other species? He makes her feel like Sidney. And he makes Sidney feel fucking good.
“Go on, kiss it,” she tells him, pressing the end of her gun arm to his mouth. He does as she says, first a tentative peck before he puckers his lips and presses more insistently to the warm metal, as tenderly as he would kiss her other hand. “Good boy,” she croons, just because she knows it will make his face go red.
He’s so easy to fluster. Not like his brother, who’s always taken everything in stride. All Barrys love getting razzed, but she’s learning how much Barry Nyne specifically likes getting praised in a way that feels like being taunted.
She’s learning how much she likes it, too.
“You ready to see how much you can fit in your mouth?” she says.
“Please,” comes the hoarse response. He drops his jaw and lets his tongue hang out of his mouth, ready to take as much as she can give him.
“You asked for it,” she says, and she wedges the end of the gun in past his teeth. She pushes into the back of his throat, until she can’t push anymore, and then she stops, just admiring the sight of him with his mouth stuffed full, eyes glazed over.
Sometimes when they’re fucking, when she’s in charge, Barry slips out of focus a little. Not like going into the Zone— almost like the opposite of the Zone. He gets all soft and fuzzy, like pleasure putty in her hands. Her closest analogy is the few times she’s purposely engaged her pleasure droid service submission subroutines, the ones that make her docile and fuckable and a little out of her head.
She’s damn glad she isn’t stuck that way forever, but every once in a while it’s nice to play at it. It’s like what she said to the Skipper— sometimes stepping away from your brain is like going to a spa.
She loves being able to give Barry Nyne a spa day.
“You sure look pretty with your lips wrapped ’round my cannon,” she says, watching with fascination as a string of drool starts to drip from his lower lip. He’s breathing hard through his nose, mouth stretched obscenely around the gun. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth with it now, okay, baby? And you just take it like a good boy.”
Another muffled whimper from low in his throat. She starts to saw back and forth, dragging the muzzle forward along his tongue and then thrusting back, drunk off the adoration in his gaze. He trusts her with this. He asked for this. Here’s a man who, instead of being disgusted or unnerved by the way she’s built, actually revels in it.
“Can you suck it for me?”
Barry obliges, hollowing out his cheeks much as he can and sucking on the end of her gun arm, saliva covering his chin and dripping onto his bare chest as he laves at the metal, pulling back to thrust his tongue right down one of the barrels, licking into it the way he would if it were her pussy.
It’s not as if she has any sensation in her assault cannon, but just the sight of this is doing something for her. Sid presses a hand against herself through the fabric of her skirt, soaking in the sight of Barry Nyne, devoted, exquisite, mouth full. She extends a leg so he can hump against one of her rollerblades, and he jerks his hips a little bit, for just a little friction, but mostly he’s focused on sucking.
“Oh, you must’ve wanted this bad,” she says, using her other hand to comb the hair off his forehead. He’s been growing it out, the roots showing, purple fading into dark brown, like twilight giving way to night. “Show me, baby, show me what you want.”
He forces as much of the double-barrel as he can take, pressing the soft palate of his mouth against the muzzle, and then he pulls back, sucking on the end, desperate in the way he’s wrapping his lips around the double-barrel, and his eyes have been watering just from the way he’s stretching his mouth so wide, but now the tears are coming faster, real tears, desperate and devastated.
He looks up at her, eyes distant and watery, and he pulls off the cannon, one string of drool still connecting his swollen lips to the end of the gun.
He nudges her gun-arm up so instead of hovering close to his lips, she’s pointed right at the center of his forehead.
“Do it,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
And for just one wonderful ribec, she doesn’t understand.
Comprehension clicks in, and she recoils, yanking her gun away from his face. “Barry?”
“Jus’ do it,” he says, tears streaming down his face. He opens his mouth, like she’s going to put her gun-arm back inside, like she’s going to angle it up, fire, blow a hole through his brain—
And even having jailbroken her programming, in this moment she can feel herself shift from pleasurer to protector.
Sid drops to her knees to join Barry Nyne on the floor. She reaches for one of his hands, drops it immediately when he flinches at the contact. “Barry, honey, where are you right now?”
“I— I don’t—” He’s crying harder, staring at nothing like he’s seeing right through her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she says, even though it’s really fucking not. “What are you sorry for?”
“F-Fantanima—” He’s shaking, teeth clacking together as he shivers. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t wanna do it. I didn’t—”
“Oh, honey, I know you didn’t,” she says. “Can I tell you where you are right now? You’re on the Wurst. Barry Syx is safe. And you’re safe, Barry Nyne is safe.”
He shakes his head. “Not safe,” he mumbles. “Killed them.”
“No, you didn’t,” Sidney says, wanting to squeeze his arm, wanting to pull out both her Handy Annies just to help hold him together. But he’s not good with touch right now, so she just keeps her hand at her side. “You got taken over. It wasn’t your fault. Do you want me to get Barry?”
“Barry’s dead.”
“No, honey, Barry Syx is alive,” she promises. “And he’s here on the Wurst with us. Do you want me to get him?”
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, just drags in heaving breaths, his whole body trembling. And then he shakes his head. “Sid,” he says finally. “Jus’ Sid.”
“Okay. That’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, but this time it’s calmer, more embarrassed than broken, like he’s clawing his way back out of the memories.
“Deep breath,” she says. “Come on, with me, one, two, three. Hold it.” She talks him through breathing exercises for a couple of marbecs, thinking back to the times she’s helped his brother recover from night terrors. It’s just a matter of centering yourself, just a matter of getting your bearings until you can let your body take care of you again.
Finally, the shaking subsides. Barry’s shoulders slump. “Shit. I’m sorry, Sid. I fucked this up.”
“No, you got nothin’ to be sorry for,” she promises him, even though it’s maybe not true, even though the image of him begging her to fire is going to stick with her for too long, like grease caked in her machinery. “Do you want to sit up on the bed?”
He glances up at the bunk beside them, and then he shakes his head. “Not safe.”
“Okay, then…” Sid scans the room for a moment, and then she flattens herself against the floor and wedges herself under the bed, extending her hand out to Barry to join her. He crawls under the bunk with her, and it’s just barely high enough off the floor that they can both fit under it, his nose centimeters from the underside of the springs. “This alright?”
“Mm.”
“You, um.” Suddenly, she wishes she could go and get Margaret. Margaret always seems to know the right words to say. “What happened, Barry?”
He lets out a long, shuddery breath. “I didn’t think I was gonna react like that,” he says. “I’m fucking sorry, Sid. I really just… I really did just want to have some fun. I fucked it up.”
“It’s okay,” she says, but that’s also a lie. She’s supposed to be better at this. She’s supposed to set a boundary. She reminds herself that she’s not actually a pleasure droid, that Barry is her friend, maybe even her lover at this point, and she’s allowed to have feelings about what just happened. “Actually. Um. Barry, you know I care about you a lot, but if you’re going to use me to hurt yourself, we can’t have sex anymore.”
“Right. No, I get that,” he says. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t… fuck…”
He drags a hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes, only for more to keep spilling.
“There were a lotta times I wanted to put a gun in my mouth,” Barry says. “He wouldn’t let me.”
“... Barry Syx?” she says tentatively.
His mouth twitches. “No, the, um.” Another shaky breath. “Skip’s dad.”
“Oh. Fuck, Barry…”
“That’s not what this was about,” he says quickly. “That’s— or it wasn’t. I wasn’t even thinking like that until it was already in my mouth and it’s like I just— I just remembered being stuck, inside, and not being able t’move, or talk, or fight back. And I wanted so bad to hurt the thing that killed the Barrys. And there was nothing I could do. And now… now I can do whatever I want. I think. I think that’s what happened. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I think that’s why I… reacted. Like that.”
Sid’s careful not to grab at him, but she squirms a little closer so her shoulder is brushing his. What is she supposed to say to that?
She says, “I’m glad you’re here.” Which is kind of a silly thing to say about the man hiding under the bed with her, but she more means that she’s glad he’s here on the Wurst, here in this galaxy, here in his own body.
“Me too,” Barry says. And he doesn’t hold her hand, but he does press back against her shoulder. “I am… I’m happy I get to know you, Sid. I’m happy I get to fix things with Barry. I didn’t… when I was stuck, I never really thought there’d be a time when I was free and still alive. There was before the slug, and there was… there was during. And I never really thought there’d be an after.”
“Barry was never gonna give up on you,” Sid swears.
“I know that now.”
“And now that you got me, I’m not gonna give up on you, either,” she adds, and she gets to watch from the side as he smiles. Watching the curve of his lips, here on the floor, feels even more intimate than when she was thrusting her arm cannon into his mouth.
“How long can we stay here?” he says quietly.
“’Til tomorrow,” she says. “But it’s today right now.”
He hums. “I can live with that.”