#shaped like a tongue depressor‚‚‚‚‚‚‚‚‚

[fizzyghosts]

Finally got the charming corset. Hywel can pull it off, Cecco on the other hand,,,,,,,

[marlynnofmany]

Talking Sports

“And then I found out we weren’t the only species to invent football!” I said to Wio as she opened food packets. Normally I would have enjoyed watching the way someone with tentacles unwraps things, but I was focused on my story. “I mean, I know it’s a very simple concept, but that was incredibly strange to turn the corner and see a bunch of beefy dinosaur-looking people tackling the quarterback.”

“I’m sure,” Wio said, popping the lid off a jar. “Is this one of the ‘gimme the ball’ games, or ‘get rid of the ball’ games?”

“Um.” I paused to think. “I guess you can categorize them like that, can’t you? Never thought about it. It’s a ‘gimme the ball.’”

“Are those the more common type?” Wio pushed my own lunch tray towards me, which I’d forgotten about.

“Thanks. Maybe?” I poked through the stack of individually-wrapped human foods as I thought. These were from another mystery box of Earth stuff from our last supply run. I started with the turkey jerky. “There’s a lot of sports to keep track of. Fighting to keep the ball is football — and rugby, which is similar — soccer, where you just use your feet; basketball, where you have to keep bouncing the ball; hockey, where you smack it across the ground with a stick… Oh, and lacrosse, where you throw it with a stick that has a net on it. And I’m probably forgetting a ton.”

“Mm,” Wio said conversationally. She scooped up a mouthful of stinky fish paste with the Strongarm version of a spoon, which had a handle shaped like a jumbo tongue depressor. She didn’t bother grabbing it, just sticking her suction cups to the underside. “That’s six. What about games where the goal is to chuck the ball into the sun?”

I talked over a bite of jerky. “There’s probably not as many, at least if you’re strict about the definition. In baseball you’d definitely be a star if you hit the ball into orbit, but the others tend to have a specific place where you want the ball to go. That can be the other side of the court, like tennis, volleyball, or badminton — or even ping-pong — but then there’s golf, where it looks like you’re trying to whack the ball as far as possible, but really you’re aiming for a tiny hole at the end of the field.”

“Six again,” Wio commented. “Or just one, depending on definitions.”

“I know I’m forgetting some,” I said. “What else is there where you throw the ball as far as possible? I mean, there’s competitive javelin throwing, but that’s not the same kind of game. One person at a time going for the highest score, instead of two teams playing against each other at the same time. With javelins, that would just be actual warfare, and then you’d be aiming at people anyway, not going for distance.”

Wio finished the fish paste. “You do seem to have a lot of team games,” she said. “I’m used to more of that ‘highest score’ kind.”

“Yeah?” I asked, intrigued. “What kind of sports do Strongarms have?”

“Well, we do have some that are cooperative,” she admitted. “At least where I’m from. A lot of races, some with an object to carry and a goal. Sometimes the object is a teammate. And there are a few varieties of wrestling, some with limitations or challenging locations.”

“That sounds fun. Challenging how?” I reached for more jerky, and realized the package was empty. I moved on to a squeeze-tube of applesauce.

“Oh, there’s a bunch of options,” Wio said, waving a tentacle. “People are always coming up with more. My favorite is probably the balancing on top of a pole one.”

“Cool.” The applesauce was nice and cinnamon-y. “Do you have a least favorite?”

“In a box,” she said immediately. “That one is stupid and hard.”

“I bet!” I said.

Wio began peeling what looked like a blue-and-green onion. “But anyway, most of the competitions are solo challenges. Lots of puzzles. And many of the ones with multiple people acting at once are just a way of saving time so we don’t have to wait to see who’s best at the puzzle.”

“Do you do any climbing?” I asked. “Obstacle courses?”

“Oh sure,” she said. “Some of the races are vertical. And there’s a whole category of seeing who can wriggle through odd-shaped openings the fastest.”

I watched her peel the thing, which had far more layers than I’d expected. “Sounds like the only games with a ball to move around are the races. Some of them.”

Wio paused and stared at the wall with a thoughtful expression on her octopuslike face. “I’m probably forgetting some too, but nothing’s coming to mind. There are things with floating objects, but those are more swimming challenges, not focusing on the objects themselves.”

“Pity,” I said as she finally ate the core of the onion, which was the size of a grape. “Ball games can be a lot of fun.”

“I believe you,” she said in the tone of someone not particularly motivated to do anything about it. Then she started eating the blue onion skins like potato chips.

“Have you ever tried one?” I pressed. “Even a simple thing like catch or keep-away?”

“I don’t know what either of those are, but I can guess.” She said, crunching away.

“What about…” I searched through my food options for an orange or a walnut or something. I found a tuna can. “Table hockey! Here, set the trays on the bench; I just want to show you real quick.”

I didn’t really expect her to agree, but she shoved the last of the crunchy things in her mouth and moved the remainder of her lunch. This table wasn’t very wide, hardly a proper playing field, but that would make it easier for a rookie. I set my tray on the bench seat next to me and explained the rules. “We just whack it towards each other and try not to let it fall off our side of the table. If you get it off my side, you get a point. Got it?”

“And the other sides are no one’s point, right?”

“Right. If we want to make it harder, we can say you lose a point for hitting it off there, but no need.”

“All right.” She splayed an unfair number of tentacles across her side of the table. “Let’s do it.”

I shoved the can at a reasonable speed, only to have her thwap it back at me hard enough to hurt when I caught it. I laughed. “Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?”

Wio smiled with her weird little alien mouth. “Was that meant to be difficult?”

“Oh, it is on.”

Thus began a riotous game of table tuna, which ended up making such a ruckus of laughter and whacks against the cabinets that Eggskin came in from the kitchen to see what was going on.

Wio waved three tentacles at them. “We’re playing an Earth sport!”

“I see,” they said, turning their scaly head in a clear inspection for damage to the cabinets. “I trust you’ll be eating the contents of that can, now that you’ve thoroughly dented it.”

“Sure, sure,” I said, turning the can over. “Oh, this is starting to leak, isn’t it?”

“And I trust you’ll be cleaning up your own mess?”

“Yep. Sorry.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Eggskin swept away with all the dignity of an elder who’d caught the kids getting into trouble. I had no idea how old they were, but they definitely had grandparent vibes sometimes.

Luckily the can had only dripped a little, and was easy to wipe up. Wio and I were soon back with lunches in front of us. I was looking for crackers to put the tuna on when Wio spoke up.

“You should try a Strongarm game now.”

I looked up. “I suppose that’s fair. Do you have one in mind?”

She held up a white jar with multiple seams and no obvious lid. “A classic puzzle is opening something without looking. Like this youth-proof seal.”

“Okay,” I said, holding out a hand for it. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Instead of handing it to me, she grinned wider. “You can’t just sit there, of course. You should lie down on your back. And open it under the bench behind you.”

“Whaaat,” I said. “You are making that up.”

She was outright giggling now. “This is literally a child’s game to see if they’re old enough to open containers on their own.”

“Fine.” I got as comfortable as I could on the hard bench, and she handed me the jar. I held it under the bench, and immediately regretted my choices. “Ow. This game was designed for someone who has tentacles instead of shoulder joints.”

Wio’s voice oozed amusement. “Surely you can handle a child’s puzzle? Come on, I’ll open this one at the same time. See if you can beat me.”

I grunted, twisting at yet another part that didn’t twist. Today’s lunchtime had turned out so educational. “I guarantee you I cannot.”

~~~

Inspired by this post, and also partly by the octopus skill at opening jars.

Ongoing backstory for the main character of this book. More to come!

[missamyrisa2]

Hello Miss Amy! I fell in love with your tickle teases since the first one, and I'd love to know... how would you tickle the VERY ticklish inside of the mouth of a silly little lee... Tip: the roof of the mouth is their worst spot!

My, my, my ~ it's sooo delightful how my ticklees just so willingly wander into the Giggly Menagerie baring their most precious tickle spots hmmm?

Such a special tickle spot will require a special tickle tool~!! And oh yes, I've had experience with ticklish mouths ~ did you even doubt it? That's why I'll show you my tricks as you sit at my examination chair, smirking as I press the button to make the it lean back~ sooo I have this here tongue depressor, and it's prettty good at probing the roof of the mouth and other areas ~

Open up nowwww ~ open up for tickle mama~ I'll keep tickling your neck with this lil duster until you doo ~good thing you're nice and restrained on this dental chair huh?

There we gooo ~ see, my little tool can just lightly touch around your inner cheeks and up, tappy tappy on your teeth and riiight along the ridges of your mouth top ~ the roof is full of silly itchy giggles huh? Ooh, but this smooth surface isn't the best for tickles. That's why I'm gonna show you my trick. We take the tongue depressor, and we take this flat handled under eye concealer brush, keep your tongue nice and settled down, and then I can paint those little ridges and shapes on your roof ~ oooh yes. Keep that mouth steady now ~ Aww, your giggles are so silly and squeaky like this ~ how adorable~!

Little brushy tickles from side to side and let's explore by your teeth tooo~ ooh yes, just the lightest touches. The littlest graze of my brush to get all those sensitive areas. Funny thing with mouth tickles is everything gets all wet and less tickly. That's why I come equipped with so many tools ~ let's set the brush aside and ooh before we get to the next one, stick out your tongue ~ come on now, give me that cute tonguey tongue. I'll tickle your belly and make it come out ~ tickle tickle tickle ~ there we gooo ~ theree they bee~ ooh yes, I do believe I'm tickling your tongue with my nail tip mmhmm ~ it's tongue awareness day, didn't you know?

Okay, put that wiggly thing back in and now my stiff stiff feather gets to check out~ under your tongue. Flip it up, silly ~ this is gonna be intense but don't worry I'm riiiight here ~ little probing touches, that's all it takes ~ keep that tongue flipped up or I'm really gonna tickle youuuu ~ oooh, look at that soooo sensitive ~ and I have my other finger to slip in and test those cheeks toooo~ little index finger strokes on each inner cheek ~

And last but not least ~ my cooool roller ~ just a chilled metal tool I can smoothly glide on your roof now. Oh yes, total tickles on that hidden field of giggles. Laugh it out my unique gigglebug ~ all your tickles are met here ooh yesss~<33

[moonimbued]

y'all I took an abiem about 2:10 and now it's 2;55 and I don't know what 8ve been doing for the last 45 mins

I was just going to swallownmeds and drink some more water and then stand up and go to bed

it feels like there is a doctor who is for brains except a brain is like a mouth, or like a skull is a month I guess, and the doctor says say ahhh and then uses a tongue depressor to push on my brain gently but firmlg

like if u make something out of clay and you use the back of a spoon to gently shape some part of it

[haro-whumps]

Whumptober Day 7: Silent Panic Attack

Morja did not… care… for medical facilities. In general they were not an ideal place for a diathesimos to be. The fact that he might need medical attention was a personal failing, on his part, but he did feel ever so slightly resentful that Cobi would even insist that he needed it after such a minor injury—

No, he couldn’t think like that. Where had the thought even come from? Cobi was his superior, obviously Morja needed to obey. Just, he’d had worse wounds that had never needed—Cobi was right and Morja was wrong. He should stop thinking about it, clearly all it was doing was getting him worked up.

Maybe the injury was worse than he thought. Maybe he’d gotten concussed with the black eye, and he just didn’t realize it. Maybe that’s where all these errant thoughts were coming from.

Sarai entered the room and Morja did not flinch, but felt a faint horror at the fact that he almost had. He knew better! He was better than that, better than this. Sarai was talking to him, he should be listening.

“–ty black eye, so he wanted me to check on it. Your vision feeling okay?”

Morja nodded and swallowed, not trusting himself to speak. She was washing her hands. Drying them, pulling on gloves. He willed his heart to stop its pace, to slow, slow down, even slightly, but he could feel his pulse in his ears and with each throb of his new bruise.

“Gonna touch it.”

Morja held himself deliberately still, body tense, iron grip on his own breathing which threatened to turn loud and ugly and fast, spiral out of control. If he let himself slip for even a moment, he would spiral entirely and utterly out of control. He couldn’t. He knew better, he was better. Her fingers on his face felt distant, almost tingly. His whole face, actually, felt tingly. Numbish. He willed his heart to stop. His breathing to stay normal.

“Follow this with your eyes,” she ordered, her tone mercifully firm and impartial. It gave Morja something to cling to, as his body seemed to betray him, his thoughts errant and wrong. He made himself watch the tongue depressor she lifted, and moved first from side to side, then up and down, then in a slow circle. He clung to it like a drowning man, the order, the motion, the fact that he was obeying, he obeyed, he could obey. The hair near his temples felt like it was being yanked, like it was pulled into a too-tight ponytail. His lungs squeezed like he was suffocating, but he continued to breathe deliberately, slowly.

God knew what would happen to him if he allowed himself to crack in front of a doctor.

The doctor was Sarai. He knew her. She was kind to him, she’d always been kind to him, she wouldn’t—he wasn’t in New Athens anymore. Things were different here. He knew that. He was sweating. He felt cold. She was examining him, tilting his head gently, and it was the only movement he could allow himself. He couldn’t disobey her.

“Hey, Morja,” the glove was cool on his cheek, but he couldn’t move even to lean into it. If he tried to move he’d crack, and if he cracked right now he’d shatter all over her floor, “your eye looks fine. You good, honey?”

“I—” briefly, almost, the concept of asking for rest passed his mind, ‘I just need to sleep it off’ so common a phrase here he’d nearly parroted it, “—am fine, Doctor. Thank you.”

“Yeah alright. Go sleep this one off, okay?” See? There was that phrase again. “You seem in good health but take it easy the rest of today.”

“Yes’m,” he got out. He didn’t know how he managed to force his tongue to shape so many words. He could only pray they would be enough.

“Hey,” she said, stepping back and stripping off her gloves, Morja feeling his fingers begin to tremble. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, okay? Everyone gets black eyes, and Cobi fusses each time. No one’s looking down on you.”

Morja didn’t have the mental capacity to try and puzzle her words into making sense. He just got up, praying he’d guessed right, that this was a discharge, a dismissal, and silently departed the room. She didn’t stop him, and Morja made himself move very slowly, very deliberately, keeping his pace even and measured like he was taught, until he was all the way back to the little quiet space they’d given him as “his” and finally allowed himself to shatter.

A lil fanfic for @newbornwhumperfly today ;)

[growithamazon00]

Unlock Clear Speech: Mouth Exercises for Effective Communication

In the realm of speech therapy, the journey to clear and confident communication begins with targeted exercises. At 1SpecialPlace, our online speech therapy providers specialize in empowering individuals to enhance their speech clarity and fluency through a range of effective Mouth Exercises For Clear Speech. Whether you're seeking to overcome articulation challenges, improve pronunciation, or refine your overall speech skills, these exercises can play a pivotal role in achieving your communication goals.

Understanding the Importance of Mouth Exercises

Before diving into specific exercises, it's essential to recognize the role of the mouth in speech production. The intricate coordination of tongue, lips, jaw, and palate shapes the sounds we produce, making proper muscle control and flexibility crucial for clear speech. Mouth exercises serve to strengthen these muscles, improve coordination, and increase awareness of articulatory movements, ultimately leading to clearer and more precise speech.

Key Mouth Exercises for Clear Speech

Tongue Twisters: Tongue twisters are a fun and effective way to warm up the articulatory muscles and improve speech clarity. Start with simple twisters like "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers" and gradually progress to more challenging ones. Repeat each twister several times, focusing on precise articulation and clarity of speech sounds.

Lip Trills: Lip trills involve blowing air through slightly pursed lips to create a buzzing sound. This exercise helps to strengthen lip muscles and improve lip control, essential for producing clear speech sounds. Begin by blowing air through your lips while making a "brrr" sound, then try producing simple words and phrases using lip trills.

Tongue Strengthening Exercises: Strengthening the tongue muscles is crucial for clear articulation. Try pressing the tongue against the roof of the mouth and holding for a few seconds, then pushing it against each side of the mouth. You can also use tongue depressors or tongue exercises tools to target specific tongue movements and improve muscle strength.

Jaw Mobility Exercises: A flexible jaw is essential for proper speech production. Practice opening and closing your mouth smoothly and evenly, gradually increasing the range of motion. Incorporate jaw stretches and massages to release tension and improve jaw mobility, enhancing speech clarity and fluency.

Breathing Exercises: Effective speech begins with proper breath support. Practice diaphragmatic breathing by inhaling deeply through your nose, allowing your abdomen to expand, then exhaling slowly through pursed lips. This exercise promotes controlled airflow, vital for sustained speech and clear articulation.

Embracing Online Speech Therapy with 1SpecialPlace

At 1SpecialPlace, our dedicated team of online speech therapy providers is committed to helping individuals unlock their full communication potential. Through personalized therapy plans, interactive sessions, and targeted exercises like those mentioned above, we empower clients to overcome speech challenges and communicate with clarity and confidence.

Whether you're navigating articulation difficulties, stuttering, voice disorders, or other speech-related concerns, our experienced therapists are here to support you every step of the way. With the convenience of online therapy, you can access expert guidance and resources from the comfort of your own home, making clear and confident speech more attainable than ever before.

Don't let speech challenges hold you back. Take the first step towards clearer communication today with 1SpecialPlace's Online Speech Therapy In India services. Together, we'll embark on a journey towards unlocking your true voice and empowering you to communicate effectively in any situation.

[speechgearsindia]

Enhancing Speech Therapy: The Benefits of Tongue Elevation Tools

Speech therapy plays a vital role in helping individuals overcome communication challenges and achieve clearer speech. Among the various techniques and tools used by speech-language pathologists (SLPs), the Tongue Elevation Tool stands out as a valuable resource for addressing specific speech disorders and enhancing tongue control. In this blog post, we'll explore the benefits and applications of tongue elevation tools in speech therapy.

Understanding Tongue Elevation Tools

Tongue elevation tools, also known as Tongue Depressor Use, are devices designed to assist individuals in improving tongue movement, strength, and coordination. These tools typically feature a flat, spatula-like surface that is placed under the tongue, helping to elevate it and facilitate targeted exercises. Tongue elevation tools come in various shapes, sizes, and materials, allowing SLPs to tailor their use to meet the specific needs of each client.

Applications in Speech Therapy

Tongue elevation tools are particularly beneficial in the treatment of speech disorders that involve impaired tongue movement and control. Conditions such as dysarthria, apraxia of speech, and certain types of articulation disorders can significantly impact an individual's ability to articulate sounds and form words correctly. Tongue elevation tools provide a tactile cue and support the tongue's movement, helping clients achieve the precise tongue placement required for clear speech production.

One common technique used with tongue elevation tools is tongue strengthening exercises. These exercises involve applying resistance against the tongue while it presses against the tool, helping to build muscle strength and endurance. Strengthening the tongue muscles can improve overall speech clarity and articulation, especially in individuals with muscle weakness or coordination difficulties.

Additionally, tongue elevation tools can be used to target specific articulatory errors, such as frontal or lateral lisps. By guiding the tongue into the correct position and providing feedback on tongue placement, SLPs can help clients produce sounds accurately and develop proper articulation patterns. The tactile feedback provided by the tongue elevation tool enhances kinesthetic awareness, allowing clients to better understand and control their tongue movements during speech.

Benefits for Clients

The use of tongue elevation tools in speech therapy offers several benefits for clients. First and foremost, these tools provide a tangible and interactive way to engage clients in therapy sessions. The tactile sensation of the tool under the tongue can help clients develop a heightened awareness of their oral structures and improve their ability to manipulate tongue movements effectively.

Furthermore, tongue elevation tools offer a non-invasive and gentle approach to addressing speech difficulties. Unlike invasive procedures or surgeries, which may carry risks and require extensive recovery time, tongue elevation tools offer a safe and comfortable alternative for clients of all ages. Additionally, the versatility of these tools allows SLPs to incorporate them into various speech therapy activities and exercises, making therapy sessions more dynamic and engaging for clients.

Another significant benefit of tongue elevation tools is their portability and accessibility. These tools are lightweight, compact, and easy to transport, making them suitable for use in clinical settings, schools, or even at home. Clients can continue practicing tongue exercises outside of therapy sessions, allowing for consistent reinforcement of skills and faster progress in speech development.

Conclusion

In conclusion, tongue elevation tools are valuable assets in the field of speech therapy, offering a versatile and effective solution for addressing a wide range of speech disorders. By providing tactile support, facilitating tongue movement, and offering feedback on tongue placement, these tools empower clients to improve their speech clarity, articulation, and overall communication skills. Incorporating tongue elevation tools into speech therapy interventions can enhance therapy outcomes, empower clients to overcome communication challenges, and ultimately, improve their quality of life.

[thebreakfastgenie]

I've been thinking a lot about that "same size, same shape" scene. When Hawkeye says BJ's name, BJ sort of raises his glass in recognition like "yep, I'm here. you got me." And then Hawkeye says "same size, same shape," and you can see the hurt in BJ's eyes. I don't believe for a moment Hawkeye actually sees BJ as a replacement for Trapper, but that's exactly what he's just said. Hawkeye's mental health is spiraling so rapidly at that point I don't think he's even aware of what he's done.

Even before this point, BJ doesn't seem to understand why Hawkeye is so depressed over this tongue depressor situation. In this moment, they're operating on different wavelengths. And BJ all but exits Hawkeye's storyline after that line (I don't know if this was intentional but it stands out to me on every viewing).

It's a recurring theme that BJ, even when he agrees with Hawkeye, doesn't entirely understand why Hawkeye reacts the way he does. BJ tells him he's tilting at windmills and he isn't wrong. Hawkeye can't help it, he can't do nothing, and I think over the course of the show BJ comes to understand that, even if he doesn't really understand why. And sometimes BJ comes through. He'll tell Hawkeye what he's doing is futile (which Hawkeye knows) but that doesn't stop him from helping on several occasions.

But there's another side to this, which is Hawkeye's crusades sometimes go past doomed but righteous and become self-destructive. One of my favorite examples of that is Back Pay, during which Hawkeye almost compulsively antagonizes the inspector at every turn. BJ hasn't seemed particularly interested in any of it, but he comes through for Hawkeye in the end. I'm sure BJ was unhappy about civilian doctors profiting on the war, but that's not why he stole the jeep. In Hawkeye's manic brain, getting any kind of victory over the army, or this guy who represents it, is something, and something he desperately needs. But BJ knows irritating this guy isn't going to do anything to improve the situation.

In situations like in Souvenirs, BJ fully participates. Of course he and Hawkeye can't solve the problem entirely, but they can stop this one pilot from putting kids in danger. There is a tangible result there. Back Pay is much more removed and much less rational. He doesn't steal that guy's jeep as an act of rebellion, he does it for Hawkeye. (Just like how in Death Takes a Holiday, BJ is trying to keep the dying man alive for the man's family, but Hawkeye is doing it for BJ.)

As usual my thoughts are developing as I write, but I really think there's something to the idea that BJ tries to shut down some of Hawkeye's flights of fancy out of concern for him. I think BJ himself is also a bit exhausted by some of Hawkeye's behavior, which relates back to concern because worrying about Hawkeye putting himself into situations is exhausting. So sometimes when BJ comes across as dismissive, maybe he's just trying to ground Hawkeye. I don't think it ever works, and I don't know that it's a great method, but he's trying.

Similarly, in Hawk's Nightmare, BJ comes across as minimizing the situation, but what he's trying to do is reassure Hawkeye. There are also a number of times he tries to take Hawkeye's mind off of something, usually with a party. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. In The Late Captain Pierce, there's nothing else he really can do, and I think BJ does a pretty good job of being there for Hawkeye in that episode, especially considering how early it is.

I think BJ demonstrates that he does understand Hawkeye: he understands that certain things are important to Hawkeye and that Hawkeye has to do something about things that upset him. I don't think he always understands why Hawkeye is the way he is, which makes sense because Hawkeye's behavior is so wrapped up in his mental health. And I think we can't ignore that BJ, as frustrated as he can get, admires Hawkeye's passion and righteousness.

[thoughts-i-have-had-in-passing]

DS9 trivia/quotes from my DS9 Companion, Part XVIII:

The Forsaken

‘The Forsaken’ was originally titled ‘Only the Lonely’ after the Roy Orbison song.

Both Majel Barrett and Rene Auberjonois reported that ‘The Forsaken’ was a favourite with fans (including this one). “In part, I’m sure that’s because of Majel’s popularity with the fans, and the popularity of her character Lwaxana. It was a real bonus for me to be paired with her in the show’s first season. It helped to establish Odo and give him more dimension than he’d had up to that point.” – Rene Auberjonois

“The episode was extremely well written. It brings out all sorts of new facets in Lwaxana’s character, which, as an actress, I love, of course.” – Majel Barrett

Rene Auberjonois called the episode ‘pivotal’ for Odo’s characterization. “There are little odds and ends that I make up myself about Odo, but a lot of the important details I learn when I get my script. For example, that I don’t have a sense of smell or that I’ve never coupled before. And oddly enough, most of those things I tell Quark, who is supposed to be my nemesis, although it gives you an indication of what our real relationship is, that I tell him these incredibly personal things. And it isn’t until ‘The Forsaken’ that I express anything personal to anyone but Quark.” – Rene Auberjonois

The episode also revealed that Odo’s closed off attitude was partially due to his early experiences as a laboratory subject, and that he didn’t have a ‘real’ mouth or digestive tract.

A story in which Odo loses a bit of his rigidity was welcomed by Auberjonois. “Odo has this incredible rigid and formal kind of assurance. When my dad, who lives in London and doesn’t know Star Trek from Adam, first saw a picture of the character in a fan magazine I’d sent him, he wrote me a note that said, ‘Why are you playing a fascist?’ That’s the way he looks to people. But the Lwaxana character allows me to do the kind of thing I always try to do with a character. When I’m doing a tragedy or playing a serious character, I concentrate on finding as much humor in the character as possible. And if I’m playing a comic character, I look for the sad side. Because that’s the way you get an audience’s emotions going.” – Rene Auberjonois

Story writer, Jim Trombetta, came up with the idea that Odo would take refuge in Lwaxana’s skirt. “It goes back to the Renaissance, and the characters referred to as ‘gentlemen.’ They had to be hard warriors with a hard shape, like armor. There’s an anxiety if men become soft. They become helpless, babylike. Men don’t like that. So here that caption works very vividly. Odo’s a constable and a very tough guy, but he has to undergo that process and allow someone else to help him. He has no choice.” – Jim Trombetta

In regards to the physical challenges of making Odo melt, a alginate, mostly used in fast food to thicken milkshakes, was coloured to match Odo’s orange makeup and applied to Rene’s face with a tongue depressor. But it was not applied to his uniform, because the costume was too expensive to risk ruining. “We’re talking about the willing suspension of disbelief here.” – Rene Auberjonois.

‘The Forsaken’ is also when Kira’s uniform lost the flap at the bottom, becoming a one-piece which showed off her figure. “The original uniform wasn’t terribly flattering. I had no idea I would be in a military uniform six weeks after giving birth!” – Nana Visitor

[cognitivefunk]

A Summer Treat

So I saw the summer smut challenge and wanted to join, so I wrote this oneshot this evening, and I hope it’s ok.

Title: A Summer Treat Prompt: Popsicle Licking Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Isaac Newton x Reader (I didn’t get into the dirty details with this one so it’s gender non-specific)  Warnings/Tags: Blood (vampire bite), mild sexual content Rating: Still 18+ to be safe Word Count: 1,492 #summer of smut & #summer of smut writing challenge

Isaac eyed you with suspicion, setting the dry ice on the table along with the tongue depressors as you had asked. He seemed further confused as you brought a container of juice and a cup of hot water along for your little experiment. “You have so much faith in me!” you teased, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Trust me, ok? You’re a man of science, you’ll see!”

He scoffed at that last statement, but stayed silent, lost in thought as he examined the items on the table the both of you had set up in his room. He seemed to be piecing together the information.

In reality the popsicle had yet to be invented in this time period, but you had recalled a fun way to make them using dry ice from a science class you took years ago. The only downside was you had to be very careful not to get burned by the extremely cold substance. You handed Isaac the gloves and his expression softened, curiosity shining brightly in his eyes.  

“I’ll let you carve the hole,” you explained, taking a sketch of a generic popsicle and showing it to the eager vampire. “Rudimentary, don’t you think?” he responded, with his own brand of sarcasm. It made you giggle, and the sound was rewarded with a small smirk to the corner of his lips. And oh how he loved the sound of your voice.

You took one of the sanitized wooden tongue depressors and readied it for when Isaac dumped the dry ice onto the table, carving a cylindrical hole into the smoking substance. You took the juice and poured it in carefully; laying the wooden stick inside and watched the crystals of ice rapidly form around the liquid.  “Amazing!” the man cheered with a rather childlike wonder and you were soon able to lift the popsicle from the dry ice, dipping it into the hot water to warm it.

“It’s way too cold to eat unless you dip it in hot water first. The dry ice will burn your tongue,” you explained, lifting the treat from the water. It was dark red, flavored with cherry juice, and shining from the water you had bathed it in. “Do you want to make another one?”

“Yes, quite…I think we should make two. One for each of us,” a blush crept across his cheeks upon the thought of sharing the treat together. It seemed inappropriate to ask you to eat from the same stick, so he dug a second hole in the dry ice and poured the juice himself this time. It was just as fascinating the second time around, and he mimicked the same action as you had shown him before, bathing it in hot water before attempting to take a sample.

“Isn’t it cool?” you asked, not taking into consideration that the slang would most likely be taken literally.

“Ah, yes. It is quite cold actually,” he responded, examining the frozen treat in the light. It was a particularly warm afternoon, so the cold treat was a tempting and delightful concept. You couldn’t help but giggle again at the misunderstanding, earning a small, confused, smile from the man next to you. Had you been any of the other residents he would have scowled at you, but he couldn’t bring himself to frown at that moment.

As he raised his gaze toward you, his eyes locked onto your pink tongue, darting out to taste the popsicle. He swallowed, throat suddenly feeling quite parched. He brought the treat to his own mouth, absentmindedly, and bit into the cold surface, recoiling slightly at the temperature. The sweetness of the cherries, he found delicious however.

Though, it wasn’t as delicious as the way your lips wrapped around the tip, painting them red as the juice melted on them, dripping down the side of the popsicle only to be licked up by your waiting tongue. He hadn’t realized how hard he was holding the wooden handle of his treat until he heard a snap. The wood splintered in his hand and he was brought back to reality, averting his gaze with a blush that rivalled the redness of the cherries.

“Isaac? Oh my god, are you ok? You’re not hurt are you?” you asked, leaning forward to look at his hand. You thought the tongue depressors would be sturdy enough, but he did have superhuman strength. The moment you leaned closer to him, however, you couldn’t help but notice the prominent bulge straining against his pants.

“Oh,” it was all you could say. Your mind short circuited, before a devious idea sprung into your pretty little head. You brought the treat back to your lips and sucking on the tip, pretending not to have noticed his straining erection. “The wood must be brittle because of the dry ice; I’ll have to be careful.”

Isaac was focused on the cold flavored ice that had gathered on his hand, licking off what he could before setting the rest on the table to melt. Had he put two and two together with the shape of the popsicle itself he wouldn’t have agreed to that particular silhouette. He stole another glance, your slurping noises had peaked his curiosity, and he clutched his hands against his thighs when he saw you.

You were slowly pulling the phallic treat in as far as you could manage, and then hallowing your cheeks around it as you pulled it back. Over, and over again. His jaw hung open and his fangs emerged at full force. “By god…” he groaned. His eyes glossed over, and his body started to move of its own accord.

You were fully aware the effect you were having on him, and you released the treat with a loud pop, running your tongue along the underside. He whined loudly, swatting the popsicle out of your hand and onto the floor, pushing you down beside it. “We’ll clean that up later,” he growled, pressing himself against your inner thigh for emphasis.

You let out a squeak of surprise, not anticipating him to get worked up quite as fast as he did, but you weren’t complaining. “You dirty little vixen, you. You must know the things you do to me…” his voice was strained as well, his desperation leaking through as his arms shook on either side of your face. “You do know, don’t you?”

He searched your face, while his own was flushed and quite obviously aroused. You stuck out your tongue in a mock pout from the way he had smacked your treat onto the floor, after all the trouble you both had gone through to make it. Before you could retract it for your retort, he leaned in for the kill, taking your tongue between his teeth and sucking on the slick organ. He swooned, hips rutting against your clothed core this time, the heat flowing through you like fire.

He pulled back to allow you both room to breathe, and gave a bashful smirk. “You’re um… sweet,” he managed his best attempt at sounding suave in this situation. His awkwardness had a special charm to it, and it made your heart race nonetheless. “You too,” you respond, with an emphasized breathy tone.

You brushed your hair to the side, arching your neck toward the man. “I bet you could taste something even sweeter,” you offered, understanding the pain he had to be in. His trembling arms were the main giveaway at his power struggle against the beast inside of him. “Are you sure?” he asked, afraid that you would change your mind, but willing to stop before it was too late.

“Yes, Isaac. Please, I’m yours for the taking—“ you had barely finished your sentence when you felt his teeth sink into your exposed neck. He groaned into the bite, and his hips rutted again, unable to stop himself as he drank from you. The first prick woke your body with a mild shock due to the brief pain, though it was followed by immeasurable pleasure. You almost felt like you were floating, your veins hot with desire.

“Aah, Isaac,” you breathed his name, and he let out a whining growl against you. He released your neck, licking the blood from his lips and teeth. You couldn’t be sure if the red stains were from the cherry or from your blood. “Please, do let me know if you want me to stop. I’m holding back as best as I can, but I don’t know how much longer I can last now that you’ve allowed me to taste from you…”

You reached down between your bodies and stroked him through his pants, giving him the sweetest smile you could muster. “I don’t want you to stop Isaac.” He pressed his hips into your hand, hissing at the contact. “Right then, just don’t regret it in the morning.”

Perhaps he didn’t mind the shape of the popsicle after all.

[thealogie]

In this episode where the army accidentally thinks they ordered 500,000 tongue depressors and sends it to them, Hawkeye spirals out about how the army didn’t catch the mistake because they thinks it’s possible they’ll actually be there long enough to need all of those...

and he starts going super meta, about how war sees people as disposable and how they keep sending people even if some leave...except that he starts holding up the tongue depressors going “Henry Blake gone, replace him with Sherman potter. same size, same shape. Trapper left, replace him with BJ Hunnicutt. Same size, same shape.”

And BJ is just like...You Know That’s The Thing I’m Sensitive About, and I Will Kill You

[electronic-therapy-teletherapy]

Articulation Strategies And Tips For The /r/ Sound

If you are a school-based therapist, you definitely have students on your caseload with goals to produce the dreaded /r/ sound. I say “dreaded /r/ sound” because it can be a very daunting sound to tackle and correct. There are many times that the student has practiced and practiced, and you as the therapist have stood on your head trying every trick in the book but that /r/ just will NOT correct.

Fear not, I have some articulation tips and strategies that have helped my students have success along the way! I hope that they become helpful to you!

Let’s start with some tips…

Articulation tips for /r/ sound

Make sure that the student knows HOW to produce the sound. Teach him/her that the muscles make the sound, not the bones! This will make it easier to get buy in!

Along with the first bullet point, have the student tell you WHY he or she wants to correct the /r/- do this first and do this often!

Assess /r/ in ALL contexts. There are many vowel /r/ combinations that are left out of standardized assessments. This way you will know what goals to write!

Start thinking about dismissal and plan for it with the student/family/teacher right from the get go.

I do not always achieve 90-100% accuracy before dismissal. If the student is able to use strategies with independence, and the sound is not affecting that student academically, it is time to dismiss!

Now on to some tricks for working on that /r/ sound…

Strategies to improve /r/ sound

Retracted /r/- I typically use this teaching method, and have found it successful. Have the student do the following:  lips don’t move, jaw moves only slightly, and tongue is in the back of the mouth with the sides elevated. This is also called the Butterfly Effect. The student can feel the tongue on the top molars.

Bite Blocks- These are helpful in creating an open mouth where the jaw and mouth do not move. You can use tongue depressors, wine corks, etc.

I have some of my students talk like a ventriloquist. It is fun, and it gets the articulators where they need to be!

Shape /r/ from /ee/

Say /arrr/ like a pirate

I hope that these tips, tricks, and strategies for the /r/ sound have been helpful to you! Please reach out if you have any questions or want to bounce ideas!  These have helped my students, and I wanted to share them with you!

For more therapist-approved activities to keep your children learning, check out E-Therapy’s Teletherapy Activities section.

About the Author

A📷ngela Jordan, M.A. CCC-SLP has been a speech-language pathologist for 11 years and currently provides teletherapy services through E-Therapy. She lives in Pittsburgh, PA with her two daughters, husband, and two cats.  Angela has accrued a wide range of experiences in her career, including both pediatric and geriatric. Something she has learned along the way that has helped her in her career in learning to make a difference is to always meet the person where he or she currently is. She says, “There have been many times that I come into a session with a plan, and that plan just isn’t working. It is so important to talk to your students and parents, find out what they like, find out what is going on in their lives, and really build that rapport. Relationships are key, and without one it is very hard to move forward! Once you meet that student where he or she is and move from there, therapy is so much more effective.”

Original Source

[cauldronofmorning]

CHAR! I'm watching "Depressing News." Hawkeye's tower of tongue depressors. Exchangeable BJ and trapper! "I like to think of it as a casual obsession... a little mania to help me relax." oh boy.

It really is one of the best Hawkeye is bipolar episodes. And BJ’s expression going from pride when Hawkeye mentions him incoming to completely shattered when “same size same shape” gets said. Hawk you depressed bitch.

[limited-practice]

I saw a request from @shapeofmetal that @rawmeknockout filled fantastically well here and thought yes this is good, this is all great, I’d love to have a go at writing this myself some time. So I did. 

7424 words of explicit Shockwave/Reader are below the cut.

The human mouth is disgusting, and I am going to prove it.”

Shockwave states this coldly and firmly the second you step into his lab. But his optic is bright and wide and he’s already hovering next to you, holding out a tool box as if it’s a long lost treasure he’s graciously decided to share with you and only you, and as such you should turn speechless with awe and gratitude and silently beg to be allowed to help him prove how terrible you are.

You are supremely unimpressed. You haven’t even had the chance to take your coat off yet, and here you are being told by one of the greatest scientists you know that an essential part of you is disgusting.

“The human mouth is a medical marvel,” you argue back, dumping your coat onto the pristine floor of his lab. You lean casually and definitely against a lab bench and look at him in the way he deserves for such invalid arrogance.

“You are incorrect,” Shockwave says.

“I know you are, but what am I?” You shoot back.

“…incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I ?”

“…?”

You cross your arms in satisfaction. “Exactly.”

“Enough.” Shockwave steps closer, the tool box rattling excitedly in his hand. “Sit down. Stop talking. Open your mouth.” 

“Why? What are you going to put in it?” you say, ignoring all three orders.

“An incontrovertible means to prove my supposition that will allow even the most intellectually challenged being to understand.”

Shockwave opens the box.

You stretch up onto your toes and peer inside it. You nod your head repeatedly at what you see and what he’s just said. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Now I’m no scientist, but there’s a few things in there that don’t look very scientific. Like that long yellow thing and that sharp purple thing with hinges.”

“You are correct.”

“I know.”

“You are not a scientist. You are an inferior life form existing with a poverty of comprehension, life expectancy and universally accepted currency.”

“Hey.” You may have agreed to be a volunteer for Shockwave’s experiments after he approached you earlier with a monetary offer you couldn’t refuse, and because he ignored you when you asked  him why he hadn’t publicly advertised for volunteers and is only asking you, but you’re not going to sit back and take that. “You don’t have to be a dick about this. You don’t know me.” Two of his three statements are correct, but you’ll be floating outside in space without a suit on before you agree with him.

Shockwave looms over you, bright and purple and powerful. You’re not nervous. You’ve never been nervous around him when so many rightfully are and you don’t know why.

“I will tell you something I do know,” Shockwave says. “Something that your human ‘scientists’ and ‘doctors’ have also documented and agreed on.” 

He puts the tool box down on the bench and takes out a long cotton swab from it. “The mouth is one of the filthiest parts of your body.”

You feel your lips tugging up into a smile. “But not the filthiest, am I right?”

Shockwave glances down to between your legs.

“Pervert,” you say, delighted. “I’m talking about my brain.” For added emphasis you tap a finger to your temple. 

“Enough.” Shockwave puts his other arm on your shoulder and pushes you down onto a medical stool. He does so carefully, as if wanting to give you the chance to say no to this.

You sit down on the stool. You don’t want to say no to any of this. 

You stretch your legs out and cross them at the ankle. “Are you trying to find out how many diseases I’ve got in my mouth? Will you be upset if there are too many or too few? Do you want me to stop talking? Or is that what you like most about my mouth? The different shapes it can make; the way my tongue moves; how wet everything is? Would you be upset if I keep it closed and denied you everything you so clearly want?”

And before Shockwave can respond, you preempt him and open your mouth.

“Are you going to slip into a radioactive suit first?” you ask. “Are you worried about your safety? It’s OK, there’s nothing to be concerned about - I’ll go easy on you. And I promise not to bite.”

Shockwave doesn’t answer. But he looks like he wants to. He very much looks like he wants to say something that he shouldn’t.

He inserts the cotton swab into your mouth and runs it along the wall of your cheek, coating the tip in saliva. He then pauses, as if reluctant to remove it so soon. He swipes the inside of your mouth again, this time anti-clockwise and this time slower. He repeats the clockwise and anti-clockwise rotations three times each. Maybe his interest with your mouth really is just scientific.

He finally removes the swab and puts it into a cylindrical container mounted to the wall. “Results from the buccal swab will be available almost instantaneously and will produce an accuracy rate of 99.99%”

“I’m so glad I’m sitting down here because wow, you just blew my mind with that fascinating statistic.”

Shockwave returns to you and doesn’t dignify you with an answer.

“There may be a trillions of bacteria in my mouth,” you tell him, rubbing the side of your face that he’d taken a painless sample from. “But they’re not just there to party. They pay their way and are useful. Essential, actually.” 

“Elaborate.” 

“So if we get germs in our mouth then our body doesn’t just give up and die an embarrassing death - the good bacteria are woken up and put up a fight and prevent us from getting sick. Or at least fatally sick. Sometimes we still get sick but they’ve done their best, you can’t blame them for everything.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep. Well some of the bacteria help out like that, I don’t think they all do. Some of them don’t do much and are just…there. I don’t know how many and what it is they actually do. And I’m not going to count them because one, that’s boring and two, I’m not a snitch.”

You lean forward. “Do you really not know all of this? This is basic biology even the dumb kids in the useless schools know.”

Shockwave reaches into the tool box again. “I am fully aware of the purpose of defence bacteria, how they operate, the ratio of useful to redundant organisms and how inefficient the entire mechanism is. But this has all been documented by others - by humans - and not by a cybertronian. Not by me.”

He extracts the small sharp purple thing.

You swallow. “So you don’t believe them.”

Shockwave puts his hand over yours, which is still on your cheek. “I do not believe them. I trust only my results. My methodology.”

He manipulates the instrument until it transforms into a medical instrument you recognise.

You open your mouth slightly. “And that’s the only reason you’re doing this? The only reason you want to probe me with that?”

“…correct. I need to examine and document the area personally in order to establish an accurate primary baseline.”

“Mm-hmm.” Of all the colours in existence, he chose the one that matches his frame’s colour exactly. “For science?”

Shockwave slides the purple tongue depressor into your mouth and over your tongue. “For science.” 

Shockwave is careful. Thorough. He uses his optic as a focused beam of light to peer into your mouth and examine it. The metal depressor on your tongue is smooth and warm, and whenever your gag reflex threatens to start up, Shockwave adjusts the instrument instantly to help it pass. He exacts the perfect amount of pressure every single time to still it. You’re impressed. But starting to get bored. He’s just looking at you and not moving, as if he’s never seen the inside of a human mouth before and is on sacred ground he knows he needs to tread carefully on. 

You make a sound, and he tears his relentless gaze from the inside of your mouth to your eyes. You raise your eyebrows to ask what’s taking so long.

“Tell me,” Shockwave asks, as he places the instrument underneath your tongue so that you can talk. “What are the carriers for the bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa that activate the defense mechanisms of the mouth?”

You roll your tongue on top of the depressor and feel your eyes itching to do the same. You didn’t sign up for a biology quiz. “You mean where do germs come from?”

“That is not what I meant or asked. Pay attention.”

You put a finger in your mouth. You reach as far back as the depressor goes and touch it. You run your finger along the smooth metal until it comes out of your mouth but you don’t break contact with it, you keep going, trailing your finger along the handle of the depressor until you come to the fingers that hold it. You rest your finger on Shockwave’s.

“Oh now I see,” you exaggerate loudly, as if only now the blinds have been lifted from your eyes and you finally understand what he means. “You want to know about things that shouldn’t go in my mouth. The dirty things that could make me sick. The forbidden things.” 

You swallow around the metal. “And you want to know if I know them.”

Shockwave slides the depressor out of your mouth and moves his hand back. But not far enough to dislodge your finger from his.

“What if I said I did know?” you continue. “That I know all of them. That I make a sustained effort to educate myself on biology and physiology not only because it helps me to stay healthy and alive, but because I find those areas of study fascinating in their own right?”

Shockwave doesn’t move and doesn’t answer. You can practically feel his spark contracting as he realises you’re telling the truth.

You tilt your head. If he tattooed his desires across his impressive chest he couldn’t be more obvious in what he wants. You feel your heart beat faster at what you’re going to say next. “But what if I didn’t know? What if I said I didn’t know what shouldn’t be going in my mouth and that I’d…like to?’

It should be impossible, but you can sense his spark expand.

“I…would experiment,” he tells you. “For science.”

“As opposed to the medieval fine arts?”

Shockwave’s optic bores into you. “We do not have time to undertake a battery of tests to determine if every substance is dangerous to human health if ingested orally. My selected carriers have been chosen carefully and will produce…results.“ 

You sit back on the stool and eye him critically. This is the first you’re hearing about ingesting something. He already knows what substances are dangerous to human health. He knows all of them and you, the planet Earth, and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This seems like a ploy to put things in your mouth and see if they’ll kill you or make you sick.

“You already know what substances are dangerous to human health,” you tell Shockwave. He lowers his hand and you remove your finger from his. “And I, the planet Earth and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This is starting to seem like a ploy to put things in my mouth to see if they’ll make me sick.” 

You point your finger sharply at him and speak with a fake fiery fury. “And this is the first I’m hearing about actually ingesting something. Is this whole experiment just to see if something will kill me? Is that it? Is it? Are you going to offer me a glowing stick of radioactive waste and say it’s a cybertronian delicacy and then watch me suck on it and melt from the inside and become a puddle of screaming goo as you take notes and call the overworked and underpaid cleaner to mop up what remains of me up? Is it?”

Shockwave actually takes a step back. “Incorrect. As always, you are incorrect. This is for science.”

If he had a medical frame he could detect your pulse and blood chemistry without even needing to touch you. But he doesn’t, and you’re grateful for that. If he wants to know how you’re truly feeling about this session then he’s going to have to put in the hard work and deduce it. 

“Fine,” you say. “I signed up for this ‘non-lethal experiment to determine the limitations of the human mouth’ that you’re paying me for and I’m not going to back out of it. So what’s coming out of the box next?”

But Shockwave doesn’t take anything else out. Instead he crouches down so that you’re at eye-optic level. “I am curious as to how the human mouth and resulting systems react to interior contact with something your scant years of evolution have not encountered before. My hypothesis is not encouraging for you, but facts are facts. And when I’m proven right you will eventually thank me.”

Shockwave raises his hand and flexes his fingers, and you know where this is going. But you’re overcome with a prickly irritation at the casual way he dismisses your species, and decide to play dumb with him. It’s illogical to feel this way, but you’re not a purely logical being. You’re someone better than that. 

You eye his fingers with a careful look of mild distaste. “My hideous ancestors went through a lot of shit to equip me with what I have now, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, and transform the way you’re looking at his fingers to one of mild pity. “My teeth are composed of the hardest substance in the human body. They can tear through plants and flesh and all manner of substances with ease.”

“What about metal?” Shockwave asks instantly, bringing up his hand to your face. “Reports indicates that your teeth cannot break it and your fluids cannot digest it.” He waggles his fingers. “But in the name of science this must be corroborated or rejected.”

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

“…clarify.”

“Waving your fingers about like that, ‘accidentally’ brushing my lips with them, flexing and rotating them as if they’re part of your courtship dance and any second now I’m going to be consumed with lust and fall off my seat and whimper on the floor for you.”

“…you are incor-”

“No I’m not. Stop saying that. And stop thinking I’m an idiot.”

“Incorrect.”

“You want me to suck your fingers.”

“…for science.”

“For yourself.”

“I am science and science is me.”

“That was terrible. You didn’t practice that in the mirror before I came here did you?”

“…”

Before Shockwave can get upset and pretend his sulking is a convoluted chain of logical actions that make complete sense, you lick one of his fingers.

Shockwave freezes. 

You lick it again, this time slower. Your tongue moves carefully over the tip of his finger and down the entire length of it, all the way to his hand. He feels surprisingly warm and alive.

“There,” you say, rolling your tongue around your mouth. “It didn’t kill me. And if I come down with alien flu or turn a different colour later on, I’ll give you a call.” 

Shockwave doesn’t move. 

You don’t move.

Soft humming from the medical equipment and diagnostic machines fills the room.

“Incomplete,” Shockwave says. “The test is incomplete. You signed up for a complete test, and that is what will be undertaken.”

“First of all I didn’t sign anything, so if I choose to run out of here you can’t sue me for breach of contract.”

“Are you going to run out?”

“I was thinking of doing a jaunty saunter actually.”

Shockwave examines the finger you’ve licked. You don’t make any effort to move. 

“But,” you say, drawing out the word as you stretch your arms above your head. “I’m a person of my word. We both know enamel can’t crack metal, but in the interests of science we’d better try it out anyway and document it accordingly, shouldn’t we?”

Shockwave cups your face gently, his thumb resting on your lips. “If you insist.”

“If I insist?”

Before you can protest further, Shockwave pushes his thumb in between your lips. You don’t offer any resistance, and part your lips slightly to allow him to put it in. Seemingly satisfied that you’re not about to immediately die, Shockwave rests it on your tongue. Then he puts a finger in your mouth. And when you still don’t object, he puts another one in.

He tastes of electricity and steel and graphite. Like a living battery.

You suck on his fingers carefully. There’s a pulse of blood in your ears and a pool of heat spreading along the base of your stomach, and you’re sure you can feel the energon in his fingers throb as they slide over and around and below your tongue.

His fingers explore your mouth. They massage your tongue, and count your teeth, and stroke the inside of your cheeks. He acts as if he’s an explorer sent on a mission branded with royal assent.

You bite down on his fingers gently.

Not out of fear of hurting him, but out of self preservation. You’ll crack every tooth in your mouth if you’re not careful, and you’ve got better things to do than sit in the medical bay and get a lecture.

You bite down as hard as you dare. Shockwave makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. You bite down again and are proven correct.

In satisfaction you pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t move his hand as his fingers leave your mouth, and you don’t open your mouth wide. You make sure your teeth graze as much of his hand as possible as you retreat from it. 

Shockwave is thrumming. An undeniable thrum of excitement is pulsing throughout his frame just below his plating, and it’s bleeding into you. 

“Was that good for you?” you ask innocently. “Concluding an experiment gets me all hot and bothered too. Except I don’t raise the temperature in a room by ten degrees.”

Shockwave leans in closer to you. “Incorrect.”

“Oh, smooth!“

You lick his closest finger without thinking about it. And when you like to think the temperature’s clicked up another degree, you kiss it.

“I hope you washed your hands before I came in,” you say. You’re sure he did, but it’s the sensible thing to ask.

“Of course I didn’t,” Shockwave says. “Who do you think I am? A human? I sanitized them thoroughly.”

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth. The unique taste of him hasn’t faded. “Hygiene is important.”

“Obviously.” 

“You don’t want an experiment to be ruined by contaminants.”

“Again, obviously.”

“And you don’t want your subject to suffer needlessly.” You look at his fingers and that pool of blood in your lower body heats up another degree. “You don’t want me to suffer.”

“…there is work to do and I do not like to repeat myself.” Shockwave reaches for the box again. “This next experiment is to determine the range of human taste in order to classify it as either limited, highly limited, practically non-existent or barely existent.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you say, holding your hands out with your palms facing towards him. “Slow down on all the accurate scientific jargon there will you, I’m having trouble keeping up.”

Shockwave shakes his head ever so slightly. “I thought those terms were within your sphere of comprehension, but I am obviously wrong.”

“Hey.”

“Here,” he says, holding the yellow thing you saw in the box earlier. “Unwrap this.”

You look at it but don’t reach for it. “Did you know that we have thousands of taste buds on our tongue? Thousands. Almost ten thousand, maybe more. Which means we can taste a lot. Maybe not as much as other species in the galaxy, I’m not claiming that, but we can tell the difference between a good piece of steak and a sorry looking chunk that’s unfit for a starving animal. And so could the animal. You’d throw the meat at it gently to feed it because you don’t want to get too close to it because it looks diseased, but the animal can tell the food’s terrible and has already given up the fight because it’s so disappointed and weary, and it doesn’t move as the meat thumps pathetically into the side of their face and slides down their neck to the ground and they whimper and back away into the shadows without even looking at it and now you’re out of pocket for the cost of it and starting to feel hungry.”

Shockwave twitches and looks at the fingers he put in your mouth. He’s probably wondering if he accidentally dipped them in drugs instead of sanitizing them. He holds two of them up to you.

“How many do you see?” he asks. 

“Not enough.”

This is apparently a top of the class answer, because Shockwave stops twitching and looks calmer. But still impatient. Still thrumming with something not yet satisfied. 

“This experiment won’t conduct itself,” he says.

“Won’t it?”

“The limited range of taste and texture offered by the human tongue must be documented precisely.” He finally unwraps the yellow thing himself and holds it out to you. It’s a thin grey rectangle on a stick and looks as appealing as rancid dish water.

“My range of taste isn’t pathetic.”

“Would you prefer I use embarassing instead?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should put this on your tongue.” The grey rectangle he’s poking towards you reminds you of a non-frozen popsicle that’s been rolled around in dirt and hair. An abomination of a lollipop. “And tell me what you taste.”

You hold his hand to stop him from poking your eye out with it. And you don’t put it in your mouth or on your tongue as he asked. You can’t. It looks disgusting.

“This looks disgusting,” you say.

“Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye,” he says.

You feel yourself smile. “Maybe. But why couldn’t you paint it in my favourite colour like you did with your tongue depressor?“

You bring the shape close to your nose and sniff it cautiously. And to your complete surprise it smells incredible. You make sharp eye contact with Shockwave and wish you knew what he was thinking, because he looks like he knows exactly what you are. You breathe in deeply and the scent sets off an explosion in your brain and wow, just- wow. 

It reminds you of freshly minted currency, that perfect slice of cake you once had, and the three other smells you love most in the world. Without breaking eye contact with Shockwave you lick the lollipop. It has the hard consistency of boiled candy and the flavour of genius. 

“It tastes OK,” you lie with difficulty. You lick it again, from the top all the way down to the bottom, smoothing out its sharp corners. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted in your life. A lollipop cooked in a lab by a millions of years old robot scientist who’s got a thing for your mouth is making that mouth fill with an alarming amount of saliva. It’s as if he knows exactly what your favourite smells are and has transformed them into something edible for you. 

You swallow. “I’ve had better.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t had.”

“Then save us some time and don’t lie.” 

Shockwave waves the lollipop again. An image slips into your head and you can’t help but ask “Did you wear an apron when you cooked this?” You hope that he’ll answer but you’re not expecting him too.

Shockwave doesn’t answer. 

“I’m not getting paid enough for all of this you know.”

You finally take the lollipop from his hand and lick it slowly. From the base all the way to the top, again and again and again you lick it. You’d sell everything you own for another one of these. You’d commit all manner of crimes for one. Maybe Shockwave will cook you another one. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe and you can cook it yourself. Maybe you can cook it together and wear matching aprons. Maybe you should pay attention to this experiment before he stops it. 

Shockwave’s plating is gleaming. He isn’t moving, and looks bright and powerful and helpless. Perhaps what he’s seeing you do has incapacitated him. Now that’s a thought almost as good as what you’ve got in your mouth.

“Am I not doing this properly?” you ask, your voice unfreezing him. You lick it even slower. 

“How- how does it taste?” Shockwave finally asks instead.

You lick your lips and swallow. It tastes incredible. Delicious. Indescribably fantastic.

“Like cheap crappy candy,” you tell him. “The type you know is bad for you but you still eat too much of it. Yeah sure you enjoy it, but you’re left craving something else, something more substantial. Something more.” You give him a meaningful look that’s open to interpretation.

Shockwave leans in closer to you and takes a moment before he responds. His words are clipped and careful, infused with the energy of restraint. “What flavours do you taste? I have a list of- of all the flavours this product is infused with. I want to know how many you can identify.”

You can now identify seven flavours, but more keep blossoming into existence. But you don’t feel like telling Shockwave this. What you feel like doing is finding out what he’s going to do with you if you don’t.

You suck and don’t speak, filling the room with the sounds of swallowing.

“If…if you can identify all of them you will receive a bonus payment.” Shockwaves’s voice is thick and slow.

You suck harder, and throw in a loud groan of appreciation just to see what effect it will have on him. “I don’t know what you’ve put in this but mmmmmm, oooooooohhhhhh, it tastes so good.”

Something flashes across Shockwave’s optic. A stuttering line of shadow binary, like a line of warning code revealed and suppressed.

“Sooooo gooooood.” You swirl your tongue around it, painting it with saliva and never once breaking eye contact with him. You don’t think you’ve even blinked. “You give me all the best treats to put in my mouth Shockwave.”

An invisible wave of heat crashes into you. You know that his cooling system is silent and that he cools his frame without using fans. They’re noisy and inefficient he once told you, when you asked about modifications he’s made to himself. But he still needs a cooling system. He still needs to vent excess heat generated by reactions he has little to no conscious control over. You can feel his desire bleeding through his plating to fill the space between you, hot and heavy and invisible, like tainted steam you can practically taste.

“Metal,” you tell him truthfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “I can only taste you now.”

Shockwave’s optic is burning. 

You remove the lollipop from your mouth with a small pop. A thin trail of saliva still connects it to your lips. You’re pleased to see that it’s barely reduced in size, despite your enthusiastic sucking.

“…apologies,“ Shockwave says quietly. "I- the experiment needs to be reset then. Re-done. I will eliminate all outside variables to ensure purity of evidence collection and retreat from your orbit and stand in the corner.”

You lick your lips, breaking the strand. He can be so wonderfully melodramatic at times. “There will always be outside factors influencing you that you’re unaware of,“ you tell him. "It’s best to just roll with them. So don’t you dare go anywhere else.”

“You are incorrect,“ Shockwave says, with a slight tilt of his head that you’ve long ago translated as a smile. "And that attitude is not conducive to a rigorous scientific study.”

You shrug your shoulders. “But now you can verify that the relationship between a human’s taste and sense of smell is intimate and real. You can have fun noting it in your records. And do you know what else is fun?” You put the lollipop back into your mouth and nod your head towards his interface panel. “Proving you wrong.”

Shockwave follows your appreciative glance down to see what you’re looking at. 

His panel is open and his dick is out.

Neither of you move. You just look. You both just look.

“…how is that proving me wrong?” Shockwave finally asks in genuine confusion. 

"Well,” you say, speaking slowly in order to compose yourself and to give the impression that this is a bemusing turn of events that will soon be resolved instead of escalated and that you’re expecting the former and certainly, definitely, don’t want the latter. “It proves that you don’t have complete control over your all of your actions.”

“…that was not a proposition to be proven false or correct in this session. What is incorrect are you. I have control over all of my systems, and have multiple safeguards in place to prevent them from being overridden.”

You slowly lean forward and give him a Look. “So you…meant to pop your dick out? You gave yourself the order to initiate pre-interface protocols? You’re choosing to conduct an experiment like this?”

“… … …yes.”

You sit back and fold your arms and grin smugly. The lollipop’s stick is poking out of your mouth. “So you don’t really like what you’re seeing me do? You aren’t thinking thoughts that are so explicit they’re literally banned on several worlds? You don’t want to come closer and put something else in my mouth?”

Another wave of invisible heat punches you in the face. 

“…no.”

“You could save us some time here by not lying.” 

“…there is no unit of time that needs to be saved. The experiment is proceeding as planned.”

“Oh is it now.”

Neither of you move. The sound of the medical equipment has receded. All you hear now is the pulse of blood in your ears and the rich, slightly stuttering sounds of Shockwave’s vocaliser. 

“However,” Shockwave says slowly, eventually, “I am adaptable. Realistic. A scientist.” 

“Are these bullet points on a motivational poster you have hanging up somewhere?”

“I understand the benefits that absorbing unforseen actions can have,” Shockwave says, ignoring you. “And am rolling with them.”

“Wwhat?”

“Your reaction is more conducive to further experimentation than anticipated. I am willing to indulge you.”

“Excuse me?”

Now Shockwave is the one sounding smug. “If only you could see your expression, see your body language - if you could feel the heat and analyze the pheromones radiating out of you the way I can then you would know what I know. Which is that you’re enjoying yourself. You like what you see and want more.”

You don’t answer. You hate when you can’t answer back to him immediately. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Shockwave interrupts you.

“Are you willing to progress with another experiment? Or are you scared?”

He should know by now that you’ve felt many things with him, but never fear. Does he really think that? Does he really think that reverse psychology is going to work on you? But he doesn’t look like he does. He looks like he’s not thinking things through fully, and is speaking mainly to keep the momentum going. He looks like he’s edging from need to desperation.

That goes a long way to mollify you. “Oh I’m terrified,” you exaggerate. “So very scared. But in the name of science I’ll force myself to be brave. So go on then, let’s start another experiment.”

Shockwave doesn’t move immediately. Then he shuffles closer, and wraps a hand around his dick as if to hide it or control it. “An experiment can be stopped at any time,” he tells you softly. “We have the rest of your life to try it another time if you are willing.”

A jolt of warmth blossoms in your chest and most of your body’s blood surges between your legs and you nod. Once again he’s left you temporarily speechless with his care and consideration for you. Bastard.

Shockwave makes a move to take the lollipop from your mouth, but you smack his hand away and find your voice again. “No. I’m not finished with that.”

“But-”

“The human mouth is very accomodating,” you tell him proudly. “We can’t detach our jaw like some animals can, but we can fit a lot in here. We can stretch.” You position the lollipop to one side of your mouth, so that it fits snugly into your cheek cavity as much as possible. “Still plenty of room. See?” You open your mouth to show him.

Shockwave trembles. You nod again, and he takes another step forward. His dick is now perfectly aligned with your mouth but then he pauses. He’s thinking. Calculating. Hesitating. He inches his dick forward and rests it on your bottom lip and stops again. The hot metal weight of it, the alien chrome smell of it, floods your mouth with even more saliva.

“Go on,” you encourage him, licking a bead of fluid from the dripping tip. “For science.”

For a long few seconds Shockwave doesn’t move. And then he slides his dick into your mouth. He does so slowly, inch by careful inch, giving you plenty of time to prepare and relax your muscles. It rubs against the lollipop in your mouth and you’re flooded with flavour. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin but you ignore it, instead concentrating on how fantastically full your mouth is becoming. 

Shockwave’s dick hits the back of your mouth and he stops. You instinctively try to swallow and don’t achieve much. Actually that’s not true because Shockwave moans at what you’ve just done. Actually moans. You wonder what other sounds he’s capable of making, and what sounds you can cause him to make. 

You don’t swallow again. Instead you suck. You suck his dick and the lollipop at the same time again and again and again, and Shockwave has to put a hand on the back of your head to prevent himself from buckling and you both make a long noise.

You adjust the lollipop in your mouth, hold it in place, and slowly pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t resist you, and doesn’t remove his hand from your head as you remove your mouth from his dick, which is soaking wet and dripping. You rub your thumb over the head of it, smearing the viscous liquid around it. You rub him with two fingers, and then your entire hand, stroking his dick up and down to coat it in a mixture of your saliva and the transfluid that’s steadily leaking out of him.

“Please,” Shockwave says haltingly, as he braces himself against the bench with his other arm. “The…experiment has not been concluded.”

“Experiment?” you ask, sucking on the lollipop. “Oh yes - this extra experiment that you haven’t actually told me about. What exactly is it we’re proving or disproving here?”

“I…the…to see.”

“That sounds important.” You stroke him hard and twist, and he makes a stuttering sound of mechanical pleading.

“The…human mouth is a combination of muscles,” he finally stutters, dragging some basic information up from his depths. “It- this experiment is to exercise them. See how far they can…stretch.”

That sounds mildly plausible. 

“I’ve just demonstrated how far they can stretch,” you tell him. “But do you think they can go further?”

“…yes.”

“Well would you believe it, so do I.” You lick the tip of dick and make it even wetter. “I think my mouth can take more.”

“That…yes. It would be complete. The experiment. As well as- This one. The experiment. I need…complete results or-”

“Or you’ll be a failure?” You speak around the lollipop,

your hand now languidly stroking him. “Well we don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be associated with a failure. I have a poverty of life expectancy remember, and I don’t want to waste what I’ve got with a loser. So.”

You remove the lollipop from your mouth and hold onto his legs to brace yourself. You then slowly, slowly, take his dick back into your mouth. Shockwave doesn’t move. He lets you set the pace. Lets you do all the work more like. Not that you’re complaining, but you will complain out loud to him later just to annoy him. His dick reaches the back of your mouth again and you feel him relax slightly. 

Your scientist needs to learn to be more ambitious in his experiments with you. More fearless. 

You adjust your angle, instruct your muscles to relax further, and take his dick all the way down your throat until he’s fully hilted inside you. 

Shockwave shudders and grips your head harder. He then realises what he’s done and lets go immediately in case he’s hurt you, but he doesn’t want to break contact with you so he holds the back of your head again but this time lightly, but it’s not enough to stabilize him so he shoots his other arm out and scrabbles for whatever purchase he can find and makes a sound that sounds like dying.

He needs to get a hold of himself. You’re not even moving any more, and he’s reacting like he’s been blessed and cursed with divine revelation all at once. 

You pat the back of his legs to reassure him. 

Shockwaves’s stabiliser pistons finally align and steadies his frame.

And then you move. You fuck him slowly with your mouth. All the way up and then all the way back down. His dick tastes even better than that lollipop, and you suck him with control and purpose. Your chin is wet and your throat is sticky and your heart is thumping harder than you ever remember it doing.

Shockwave is doing his best to stay silent and is failing wonderfully. You wonder if he’ll match your rhythm and fuck you down your throat but he hasn’t, and you don’t suspect he will. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to use more than a fraction of his strength in case even that’s too much. His self-control is impressive and welcome, but it’s not complete. 

Shockwave is holding the back of your head lightly, but his fingers are tightening infinitesimally around your hair and scalp every time you suck the tip of his dick and swallow it all the way down to its base. His self-control is not infinite and not indestructible. He’s not dead inside.  

You eventually feel his frame tense and tighten around you, and hear the pitch and whine of his engines straining up a gear. You’re enveloped in heat and know he’s close.

“There…is time for one more experiment,” he manages to say, his voice thick with static.

“Mmmm?” you ask around his dick, your full mouth still moving.

“…apparently saliva can digest various substances and…so can stomach enzymes and…the mouth is part of the digestive system and…if you…if you…”

You’ve swallowed transfluid before and liked it and know it won’t hurt you. You’ve had The Talk with all the medics on board just to be sure, and so long as he doesn’t pour his entire tank down your throat in one go you’ll be fine.

You nod your consent, and Shockwave makes a noise that sounds like gratitude.

He’s a bit less steady on his feet now, a bit more erratic, a bit louder and less efficient in his movements but you’re not. You’re a steady constant in the face of his fast approaching overload, fucking him in a perfect rythym that surprises him more than it does you.

He grips you harder and spasms and his engines scream dangerously loud as he overloads hard in your mouth. A shot of transfluid hits the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag at the quantity of it. You hold his legs tighter to prevent him from going anywhere, because you’re not going to miss a moment of this. You swallow as much as you can, and revel in the mechanical rumbling stuttering sounds his engines make as they fight not to cut out. His silent cooling system is blasting hard, which feels like opening an oven door and putting your face into it. Your hair is stuck to your flushed and sweating face.

Shockwave eventually quietens and stills and begins to regain himself. A series of small clicks indicate his cooling system is powering down. You suspect he’d like to keep his dick down your throat all day if you agreed to it and while that’s not something you’re opposed to, far from it, your mind is already churning with possibilities as to what three hands and a cannon can do while your mouth is occupied, it’s an experiment for another day.

Right now you have your own needs to attend to, and first on that list is to clean up the mess he’s made on you as best you ca. You gave it a good try but you couldn’t swallow everything he gave you, you’re only human, and a lot of it leaked out of your mouth and dribbled down your chin and throat. Your skin is sticky and your clothes are splattered.

You move your head back until his dick pops out, and cup a hand underneath your mouth to catch the gush of fluid that spills out. You look up at Shockwave and raise that hand to your mouth and lap up what’s in it.

Shockwave’s overworked engines make a pitiful sound as they rev back up again. You suck your fingers clean, and then you put your underestimated human mouth to good use and clean him up. 

Your work is not completed quickly.

But finally it is, and you make an effort to casually sit back in satisfaction at completing a job well done.

“So what do you think?” you ask him off-handedly, as your body thrums and fizzes. You wish your own temperature control system was more effective, no matter how noisy it would have to be. Your shirt is stuck to your back and you’re entering the non-lethal stage of dehydration. “Was the experiment a success?”

“I think,” Shockwave says, as he pours you a glass of water from the sink, “That the human mouth is…interesting.”

He hands you the glass and you drink from it without pausing. You know that’s as close as Shockwave will ever come to saying that he thinks the human mouth is incredible, yours especially, and that he wants nothing more than to fill it and worship it again.

“But still a concerning mystery,” Shockwave continues, as he takes the empty glass from you. “It requires further research. A lot of research.”

He kneels down in front of you and puts a hand on your knee.

“In fact,” Shockwave says, his warm fingertips languidly stroking up the inside of your thigh as if the thought has just occurred to him, “the human body as a whole needs to be researched further. One system, one organ, one session at a time.” 

His hand stops on your buckled belt.

“A breakthrough has been achieved,” you tell him, picking up his hand and removing it from your belt. Despite his claims to be highly dexterous, you don’t have time to wait for him to use one hand when you have two.

“It’s a minor miracle.” You unbuckle your belt, pull your pants down, lean back against the wall and put one hand behind your head to cushion it. With your other hand you make a motion for him to hurry up and get to work because you both know you’ve earned this.

“You finally said something correct. Now let’s see what else you can accomplish.“

“The human mouth is disgusting, and I am going to prove it.”

Shockwave states this coldly and firmly the second you step into his lab. But his optic is bright and wide and he’s already hovering next to you, holding out a tool box as if it’s a long lost treasure he’s graciously decided to share with you and only you, and as such you should turn speechless with awe and gratitude and silently beg to be allowed to help him prove how terrible you are.

You are supremely unimpressed. You haven’t even had the chance to take your coat off yet, and here you are being told by one of the greatest scientists you know that an essential part of you is disgusting.

“The human mouth is a medical marvel,” you argue back, dumping your coat onto the pristine floor of his lab. You lean casually and definitely against a lab bench and look at him in the way he deserves for such invalid arrogance.

“You are incorrect,” Shockwave says.

“I know you are, but what am I?” You shoot back.

“…incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I ?”

“…?”

You cross your arms in satisfaction. “Exactly.”

“Enough.” Shockwave steps closer, the tool box rattling excitedly in his hand. “Sit down. Stop talking. Open your mouth.” 

“Why? What are you going to put in it?” you say, ignoring all three orders.

“An incontrovertible means to prove my supposition that will allow even the most intellectually challenged being to understand.”

Shockwave opens the box.

You stretch up onto your toes and peer inside it. You nod your head repeatedly at what you see and what he’s just said. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Now I’m no scientist, but there’s a few things in there that don’t look very scientific. Like that long yellow thing and that sharp purple thing with hinges.”

“You are correct.”

“I know.”

“You are not a scientist. You are an inferior life form existing with a poverty of comprehension, life expectancy and universally accepted currency.”

“Hey.” You may have agreed to be a volunteer for Shockwave’s experiments after he approached you earlier with a monetary offer you couldn’t refuse, and because he ignored you when you asked  him why he hadn’t publicly advertised for volunteers and is only asking you, but you’re not going to sit back and take that. “You don’t have to be a dick about this. You don’t know me.” Two of his three statements are correct, but you’ll be floating outside in space without a suit on before you agree with him.

Shockwave looms over you, bright and purple and powerful. You’re not nervous. You’ve never been nervous around him when so many rightfully are and you don’t know why.

“I will tell you something I do know,” Shockwave says. “Something that your human ‘scientists’ and ‘doctors’ have also documented and agreed on.” 

He puts the tool box down on the bench and takes out a long cotton swab from it. “The mouth is one of the filthiest parts of your body.”

You feel your lips tugging up into a smile. “But not the filthiest, am I right?”

Shockwave glances down to between your legs.

“Pervert,” you say, delighted. “I’m talking about my brain.” For added emphasis you tap a finger to your temple. 

“Enough.” Shockwave puts his other arm on your shoulder and pushes you down onto a medical stool. He does so carefully, as if wanting to give you the chance to say no to this.

You sit down on the stool. You don’t want to say no to any of this. 

You stretch your legs out and cross them at the ankle. “Are you trying to find out how many diseases I’ve got in my mouth? Will you be upset if there are too many or too few? Do you want me to stop talking? Or is that what you like most about my mouth? The different shapes it can make; the way my tongue moves; how wet everything is? Would you be upset if I keep it closed and denied you everything you so clearly want?”

And before Shockwave can respond, you preempt him and open your mouth.

“Are you going to slip into a radioactive suit first?” you ask. “Are you worried about your safety? It’s OK, there’s nothing to be concerned about - I’ll go easy on you. And I promise not to bite.”

Shockwave doesn’t answer. But he looks like he wants to. He very much looks like he wants to say something that he shouldn’t.

He inserts the cotton swab into your mouth and runs it along the wall of your cheek, coating the tip in saliva. He then pauses, as if reluctant to remove it so soon. He swipes the inside of your mouth again, this time anti-clockwise and this time slower. He repeats the clockwise and anti-clockwise rotations three times each. Maybe his interest with your mouth really is just scientific.

He finally removes the swab and puts it into a cylindrical container mounted to the wall. “Results from the buccal swab will be available almost instantaneously and will produce an accuracy rate of 99.99%”

“I’m so glad I’m sitting down here because wow, you just blew my mind with that fascinating statistic.”

Shockwave returns to you and doesn’t dignify you with an answer.

“There may be a trillions of bacteria in my mouth,” you tell him, rubbing the side of your face that he’d taken a painless sample from. “But they’re not just there to party. They pay their way and are useful. Essential, actually.” 

“Elaborate.” 

“So if we get germs in our mouth then our body doesn’t just give up and die an embarrassing death - the good bacteria are woken up and put up a fight and prevent us from getting sick. Or at least fatally sick. Sometimes we still get sick but they’ve done their best, you can’t blame them for everything.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep. Well some of the bacteria help out like that, I don’t think they all do. Some of them don’t do much and are just…there. I don’t know how many and what it is they actually do. And I’m not going to count them because one, that’s boring and two, I’m not a snitch.”

You lean forward. “Do you really not know all of this? This is basic biology even the dumb kids in the useless schools know.”

Shockwave reaches into the tool box again. “I am fully aware of the purpose of defence bacteria, how they operate, the ratio of useful to redundant organisms and how inefficient the entire mechanism is. But this has all been documented by others - by humans - and not by a cybertronian. Not by me.”

He extracts the small sharp purple thing.

You swallow. “So you don’t believe them.”

Shockwave puts his hand over yours, which is still on your cheek. “I do not believe them. I trust only my results. My methodology.”

He manipulates the instrument until it transforms into a medical instrument you recognise.

You open your mouth slightly. “And that’s the only reason you’re doing this? The only reason you want to probe me with that?”

“…correct. I need to examine and document the area personally in order to establish an accurate primary baseline.”

“Mm-hmm.” Of all the colours in existence, he chose the one that matches his frame’s colour exactly. “For science?”

Shockwave slides the purple tongue depressor into your mouth and over your tongue. “For science.” 

Shockwave is careful. Thorough. He uses his optic as a focused beam of light to peer into your mouth and examine it. The metal depressor on your tongue is smooth and warm, and whenever your gag reflex threatens to start up, Shockwave adjusts the instrument instantly to help it pass. He exacts the perfect amount of pressure every single time to still it. You’re impressed. But starting to get bored. He’s just looking at you and not moving, as if he’s never seen the inside of a human mouth before and is on sacred ground he knows he needs to tread carefully on. 

You make a sound, and he tears his relentless gaze from the inside of your mouth to your eyes. You raise your eyebrows to ask what’s taking so long.

“Tell me,” Shockwave asks, as he places the instrument underneath your tongue so that you can talk. “What are the carriers for the bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa that activate the defense mechanisms of the mouth?”

You roll your tongue on top of the depressor and feel your eyes itching to do the same. You didn’t sign up for a biology quiz. “You mean where do germs come from?”

“That is not what I meant or asked. Pay attention.”

You put a finger in your mouth. You reach as far back as the depressor goes and touch it. You run your finger along the smooth metal until it comes out of your mouth but you don’t break contact with it, you keep going, trailing your finger along the handle of the depressor until you come to the fingers that hold it. You rest your finger on Shockwave’s.

“Oh now I see,” you exaggerate loudly, as if only now the blinds have been lifted from your eyes and you finally understand what he means. “You want to know about things that shouldn’t go in my mouth. The dirty things that could make me sick. The forbidden things.” 

You swallow around the metal. “And you want to know if I know them.”

Shockwave slides the depressor out of your mouth and moves his hand back. But not far enough to dislodge your finger from his.

“What if I said I did know?” you continue. “That I know all of them. That I make a sustained effort to educate myself on biology and physiology not only because it helps me to stay healthy and alive, but because I find those areas of study fascinating in their own right?”

Shockwave doesn’t move and doesn’t answer. You can practically feel his spark contracting as he realises you’re telling the truth.

You tilt your head. If he tattooed his desires across his impressive chest he couldn’t be more obvious in what he wants. You feel your heart beat faster at what you’re going to say next. “But what if I didn’t know? What if I said I didn’t know what shouldn’t be going in my mouth and that I’d…like to?’

It should be impossible, but you can sense his spark expand.

“I…would experiment,” he tells you. “For science.”

“As opposed to the medieval fine arts?”

Shockwave’s optic bores into you. “We do not have time to undertake a battery of tests to determine if every substance is dangerous to human health if ingested orally. My selected carriers have been chosen carefully and will produce…results." 

You sit back on the stool and eye him critically. This is the first you’re hearing about ingesting something. He already knows what substances are dangerous to human health. He knows all of them and you, the planet Earth, and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This seems like a ploy to put things in your mouth and see if they’ll kill you or make you sick.

“You already know what substances are dangerous to human health,” you tell Shockwave. He lowers his hand and you remove your finger from his. “And I, the planet Earth and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This is starting to seem like a ploy to put things in my mouth to see if they’ll make me sick.” 

You point your finger sharply at him and speak with a fake fiery fury. “And this is the first I’m hearing about actually ingesting something. Is this whole experiment just to see if something will kill me? Is that it? Is it? Are you going to offer me a glowing stick of radioactive waste and say it’s a cybertronian delicacy and then watch me suck on it and melt from the inside and become a puddle of screaming goo as you take notes and call the overworked and underpaid cleaner to mop up what remains of me up? Is it?”

Shockwave actually takes a step back. “Incorrect. As always, you are incorrect. This is for science.”

If he had a medical frame he could detect your pulse and blood chemistry without even needing to touch you. But he doesn’t, and you’re grateful for that. If he wants to know how you’re truly feeling about this session then he’s going to have to put in the hard work and deduce it. 

“Fine,” you say. “I signed up for this ‘non-lethal experiment to determine the limitations of the human mouth’ that you’re paying me for and I’m not going to back out of it. So what’s coming out of the box next?”

But Shockwave doesn’t take anything else out. Instead he crouches down so that you’re at eye-optic level. “I am curious as to how the human mouth and resulting systems react to interior contact with something your scant years of evolution have not encountered before. My hypothesis is not encouraging for you, but facts are facts. And when I’m proven right you will eventually thank me.”

Shockwave raises his hand and flexes his fingers, and you know where this is going. But you’re overcome with a prickly irritation at the casual way he dismisses your species, and decide to play dumb with him. It’s illogical to feel this way, but you’re not a purely logical being. You’re someone better than that. 

You eye his fingers with a careful look of mild distaste. “My hideous ancestors went through a lot of shit to equip me with what I have now, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, and transform the way you’re looking at his fingers to one of mild pity. “My teeth are composed of the hardest substance in the human body. They can tear through plants and flesh and all manner of substances with ease.”

“What about metal?” Shockwave asks instantly, bringing up his hand to your face. “Reports indicates that your teeth cannot break it and your fluids cannot digest it.” He waggles his fingers. “But in the name of science this must be corroborated or rejected.”

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

“…clarify.”

“Waving your fingers about like that, ‘accidentally’ brushing my lips with them, flexing and rotating them as if they’re part of your courtship dance and any second now I’m going to be consumed with lust and fall off my seat and whimper on the floor for you.”

“…you are incor-”

“No I’m not. Stop saying that. And stop thinking I’m an idiot.”

“Incorrect.”

“You want me to suck your fingers.”

“…for science.”

“For yourself.”

“I am science and science is me.”

“That was terrible. You didn’t practice that in the mirror before I came here did you?”

“…”

Before Shockwave can get upset and pretend his sulking is a convoluted chain of logical actions that make complete sense, you lick one of his fingers.

Shockwave freezes. 

You lick it again, this time slower. Your tongue moves carefully over the tip of his finger and down the entire length of it, all the way to his hand. He feels surprisingly warm and alive.

“There,” you say, rolling your tongue around your mouth. “It didn’t kill me. And if I come down with alien flu or turn a different colour later on, I’ll give you a call.” 

Shockwave doesn’t move. 

You don’t move.

Soft humming from the medical equipment and diagnostic machines fills the room.

“Incomplete,” Shockwave says. “The test is incomplete. You signed up for a complete test, and that is what will be undertaken.”

“First of all I didn’t sign anything, so if I choose to run out of here you can’t sue me for breach of contract.”

“Are you going to run out?”

“I was thinking of doing a jaunty saunter actually.”

Shockwave examines the finger you’ve licked. You don’t make any effort to move. 

“But,” you say, drawing out the word as you stretch your arms above your head. “I’m a person of my word. We both know enamel can’t crack metal, but in the interests of science we’d better try it out anyway and document it accordingly, shouldn’t we?”

Shockwave cups your face gently, his thumb resting on your lips. “If you insist.”

“If I insist?”

Before you can protest further, Shockwave pushes his thumb in between your lips. You don’t offer any resistance, and part your lips slightly to allow him to put it in. Seemingly satisfied that you’re not about to immediately die, Shockwave rests it on your tongue. Then he puts a finger in your mouth. And when you still don’t object, he puts another one in.

He tastes of electricity and steel and graphite. Like a living battery.

You suck on his fingers carefully. There’s a pulse of blood in your ears and a pool of heat spreading along the base of your stomach, and you’re sure you can feel the energon in his fingers throb as they slide over and around and below your tongue.

His fingers explore your mouth. They massage your tongue, and count your teeth, and stroke the inside of your cheeks. He acts as if he’s an explorer sent on a mission branded with royal assent.

You bite down on his fingers gently.

Not out of fear of hurting him, but out of self preservation. You’ll crack every tooth in your mouth if you’re not careful, and you’ve got better things to do than sit in the medical bay and get a lecture.

You bite down as hard as you dare. Shockwave makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. You bite down again and are proven correct.

In satisfaction you pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t move his hand as his fingers leave your mouth, and you don’t open your mouth wide. You make sure your teeth graze as much of his hand as possible as you retreat from it. 

Shockwave is thrumming. An undeniable thrum of excitement is pulsing throughout his frame just below his plating, and it’s bleeding into you. 

“Was that good for you?” you ask innocently. “Concluding an experiment gets me all hot and bothered too. Except I don’t raise the temperature in a room by ten degrees.”

Shockwave leans in closer to you. “Incorrect.”

“Oh, smooth!“

You lick his closest finger without thinking about it. And when you like to think the temperature’s clicked up another degree, you kiss it.

"I hope you washed your hands before I came in,” you say. You’re sure he did, but it’s the sensible thing to ask.

“Of course I didn’t,” Shockwave says. “Who do you think I am? A human? I sanitized them thoroughly.”

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth. The unique taste of him hasn’t faded. “Hygiene is important.”

“Obviously.” 

“You don’t want an experiment to be ruined by contaminants.”

“Again, obviously.”

“And you don’t want your subject to suffer needlessly.” You look at his fingers and that pool of blood in your lower body heats up another degree. “You don’t want me to suffer.”

“…there is work to do and I do not like to repeat myself.” Shockwave reaches for the box again. “This next experiment is to determine the range of human taste in order to classify it as either limited, highly limited, practically non-existent or barely existent.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you say, holding your hands out with your palms facing towards him. “Slow down on all the accurate scientific jargon there will you, I’m having trouble keeping up.”

Shockwave shakes his head ever so slightly. “I thought those terms were within your sphere of comprehension, but I am obviously wrong.”

“Hey.”

“Here,” he says, holding the yellow thing you saw in the box earlier. “Unwrap this.”

You look at it but don’t reach for it. “Did you know that we have thousands of taste buds on our tongue? Thousands. Almost ten thousand, maybe more. Which means we can taste a lot. Maybe not as much as other species in the galaxy, I’m not claiming that, but we can tell the difference between a good piece of steak and a sorry looking chunk that’s unfit for a starving animal. And so could the animal. You’d throw the meat at it gently to feed it because you don’t want to get too close to it because it looks diseased, but the animal can tell the food’s terrible and has already given up the fight because it’s so disappointed and weary, and it doesn’t move as the meat thumps pathetically into the side of their face and slides down their neck to the ground and they whimper and back away into the shadows without even looking at it and now you’re out of pocket for the cost of it and starting to feel hungry.”

Shockwave twitches and looks at the fingers he put in your mouth. He’s probably wondering if he accidentally dipped them in drugs instead of sanitizing them. He holds two of them up to you.

“How many do you see?” he asks. 

“Not enough.”

This is apparently a top of the class answer, because Shockwave stops twitching and looks calmer. But still impatient. Still thrumming with something not yet satisfied. 

“This experiment won’t conduct itself,” he says.

“Won’t it?”

“The limited range of taste and texture offered by the human tongue must be documented precisely.” He finally unwraps the yellow thing himself and holds it out to you. It’s a thin grey rectangle on a stick and looks as appealing as rancid dish water.

“My range of taste isn’t pathetic.”

“Would you prefer I use embarassing instead?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should put this on your tongue.” The grey rectangle he’s poking towards you reminds you of a non-frozen popsicle that’s been rolled around in dirt and hair. An abomination of a lollipop. “And tell me what you taste.”

You hold his hand to stop him from poking your eye out with it. And you don’t put it in your mouth or on your tongue as he asked. You can’t. It looks disgusting.

“This looks disgusting,” you say.

“Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye,” he says.

You feel yourself smile. “Maybe. But why couldn’t you paint it in my favourite colour like you did with your tongue depressor?“

You bring the shape close to your nose and sniff it cautiously. And to your complete surprise it smells incredible. You make sharp eye contact with Shockwave and wish you knew what he was thinking, because he looks like he knows exactly what you are. You breathe in deeply and the scent sets off an explosion in your brain and wow, just- wow. 

It reminds you of freshly minted currency, that perfect slice of cake you once had, and the three other smells you love most in the world. Without breaking eye contact with Shockwave you lick the lollipop. It has the hard consistency of boiled candy and the flavour of genius. 

“It tastes OK,” you lie with difficulty. You lick it again, from the top all the way down to the bottom, smoothing out its sharp corners. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted in your life. A lollipop cooked in a lab by a millions of years old robot scientist who’s got a thing for your mouth is making that mouth fill with an alarming amount of saliva. It’s as if he knows exactly what your favourite smells are and has transformed them into something edible for you. 

You swallow. “I’ve had better.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t had.”

“Then save us some time and don’t lie.” 

Shockwave waves the lollipop again. An image slips into your head and you can’t help but ask “Did you wear an apron when you cooked this?” You hope that he’ll answer but you’re not expecting him too.

Shockwave doesn’t answer. 

“I’m not getting paid enough for all of this you know.”

You finally take the lollipop from his hand and lick it slowly. From the base all the way to the top, again and again and again you lick it. You’d sell everything you own for another one of these. You’d commit all manner of crimes for one. Maybe Shockwave will cook you another one. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe and you can cook it yourself. Maybe you can cook it together and wear matching aprons. Maybe you should pay attention to this experiment before he stops it. 

Shockwave’s plating is gleaming. He isn’t moving, and looks bright and powerful and helpless. Perhaps what he’s seeing you do has incapacitated him. Now that’s a thought almost as good as what you’ve got in your mouth.

“Am I not doing this properly?” you ask, your voice unfreezing him. You lick it even slower. 

“How- how does it taste?” Shockwave finally asks instead.

You lick your lips and swallow. It tastes incredible. Delicious. Indescribably fantastic.

“Like cheap crappy candy,” you tell him. “The type you know is bad for you but you still eat too much of it. Yeah sure you enjoy it, but you’re left craving something else, something more substantial. Something more.” You give him a meaningful look that’s open to interpretation.

Shockwave leans in closer to you and takes a moment before he responds. His words are clipped and careful, infused with the energy of restraint. “What flavours do you taste? I have a list of- of all the flavours this product is infused with. I want to know how many you can identify.”

You can now identify seven flavours, but more keep blossoming into existence. But you don’t feel like telling Shockwave this. What you feel like doing is finding out what he’s going to do with you if you don’t.

You suck and don’t speak, filling the room with the sounds of swallowing.

“If…if you can identify all of them you will receive a bonus payment.” Shockwaves’s voice is thick and slow.

You suck harder, and throw in a loud groan of appreciation just to see what effect it will have on him. “I don’t know what you’ve put in this but mmmmmm, oooooooohhhhhh, it tastes so good.”

Something flashes across Shockwave’s optic. A stuttering line of shadow binary, like a line of warning code revealed and suppressed.

“Sooooo gooooood.” You swirl your tongue around it, painting it with saliva and never once breaking eye contact with him. You don’t think you’ve even blinked. “You give me all the best treats to put in my mouth Shockwave.”

An invisible wave of heat crashes into you. You know that his cooling system is silent and that he cools his frame without using fans. They’re noisy and inefficient he once told you, when you asked about modifications he’s made to himself. But he still needs a cooling system. He still needs to vent excess heat generated by reactions he has little to no conscious control over. You can feel his desire bleeding through his plating to fill the space between you, hot and heavy and invisible, like tainted steam you can practically taste.

“Metal,” you tell him truthfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “I can only taste you now.”

Shockwave’s optic is burning. 

You remove the lollipop from your mouth with a small pop. A thin trail of saliva still connects it to your lips. You’re pleased to see that it’s barely reduced in size, despite your enthusiastic sucking.

“…apologies,“ Shockwave says quietly. "I- the experiment needs to be reset then. Re-done. I will eliminate all outside variables to ensure purity of evidence collection and retreat from your orbit and stand in the corner.”

You lick your lips, breaking the strand. He can be so wonderfully melodramatic at times. “There will always be outside factors influencing you that you’re unaware of,“ you tell him. "It’s best to just roll with them. So don’t you dare go anywhere else.”

“You are incorrect,“ Shockwave says, with a slight tilt of his head that you’ve long ago translated as a smile. "And that attitude is not conducive to a rigorous scientific study.”

You shrug your shoulders. “But now you can verify that the relationship between a human’s taste and sense of smell is intimate and real. You can have fun noting it in your records. And do you know what else is fun?” You put the lollipop back into your mouth and nod your head towards his interface panel. “Proving you wrong.”

Shockwave follows your appreciative glance down to see what you’re looking at. 

His panel is open and his dick is out.

Neither of you move. You just look. You both just look.

“…how is that proving me wrong?” Shockwave finally asks in genuine confusion. 

"Well,” you say, speaking slowly in order to compose yourself and to give the impression that this is a bemusing turn of events that will soon be resolved instead of escalated and that you’re expecting the former and certainly, definitely, don’t want the latter. “It proves that you don’t have complete control over your all of your actions.”

“…that was not a proposition to be proven false or correct in this session. What is incorrect are you. I have control over all of my systems, and have multiple safeguards in place to prevent them from being overridden.”

You slowly lean forward and give him a Look. “So you…meant to pop your dick out? You gave yourself the order to initiate pre-interface protocols? You’re choosing to conduct an experiment like this?”

“… … …yes.”

You sit back and fold your arms and grin smugly. The lollipop’s stick is poking out of your mouth. “So you don’t really like what you’re seeing me do? You aren’t thinking thoughts that are so explicit they’re literally banned on several worlds? You don’t want to come closer and put something else in my mouth?”

Another wave of invisible heat punches you in the face. 

“…no.”

“You could save us some time here by not lying.” 

“…there is no unit of time that needs to be saved. The experiment is proceeding as planned.”

“Oh is it now.”

Neither of you move. The sound of the medical equipment has receded. All you hear now is the pulse of blood in your ears and the rich, slightly stuttering sounds of Shockwave’s vocaliser. 

“However,” Shockwave says slowly, eventually, “I am adaptable. Realistic. A scientist.” 

“Are these bullet points on a motivational poster you have hanging up somewhere?”

“I understand the benefits that absorbing unforseen actions can have,” Shockwave says, ignoring you. “And am rolling with them.”

“Wwhat?”

“Your reaction is more conducive to further experimentation than anticipated. I am willing to indulge you.”

“Excuse me?”

Now Shockwave is the one sounding smug. “If only you could see your expression, see your body language - if you could feel the heat and analyze the pheromones radiating out of you the way I can then you would know what I know. Which is that you’re enjoying yourself. You like what you see and want more.”

You don’t answer. You hate when you can’t answer back to him immediately. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Shockwave interrupts you.

“Are you willing to progress with another experiment? Or are you scared?”

He should know by now that you’ve felt many things with him, but never fear. Does he really think that? Does he really think that reverse psychology is going to work on you? But he doesn’t look like he does. He looks like he’s not thinking things through fully, and is speaking mainly to keep the momentum going. He looks like he’s edging from need to desperation.

That goes a long way to mollify you. “Oh I’m terrified,” you exaggerate. “So very scared. But in the name of science I’ll force myself to be brave. So go on then, let’s start another experiment.”

Shockwave doesn’t move immediately. Then he shuffles closer, and wraps a hand around his dick as if to hide it or control it. “An experiment can be stopped at any time,” he tells you softly. “We have the rest of your life to try it another time if you are willing.”

A jolt of warmth blossoms in your chest and most of your body’s blood surges between your legs and you nod. Once again he’s left you temporarily speechless with his care and consideration for you. Bastard.

Shockwave makes a move to take the lollipop from your mouth, but you smack his hand away and find your voice again. “No. I’m not finished with that.”

“But-”

“The human mouth is very accomodating,” you tell him proudly. “We can’t detach our jaw like some animals can, but we can fit a lot in here. We can stretch.” You position the lollipop to one side of your mouth, so that it fits snugly into your cheek cavity as much as possible. “Still plenty of room. See?” You open your mouth to show him.

Shockwave trembles. You nod again, and he takes another step forward. His dick is now perfectly aligned with your mouth but then he pauses. He’s thinking. Calculating. Hesitating. He inches his dick forward and rests it on your bottom lip and stops again. The hot metal weight of it, the alien chrome smell of it, floods your mouth with even more saliva.

“Go on,” you encourage him, licking a bead of fluid from the dripping tip. “For science.”

For a long few seconds Shockwave doesn’t move. And then he slides his dick into your mouth. He does so slowly, inch by careful inch, giving you plenty of time to prepare and relax your muscles. It rubs against the lollipop in your mouth and you’re flooded with flavour. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin but you ignore it, instead concentrating on how fantastically full your mouth is becoming. 

Shockwave’s dick hits the back of your mouth and he stops. You instinctively try to swallow and don’t achieve much. Actually that’s not true because Shockwave moans at what you’ve just done. Actually moans. You wonder what other sounds he’s capable of making, and what sounds you can cause him to make. 

You don’t swallow again. Instead you suck. You suck his dick and the lollipop at the same time again and again and again, and Shockwave has to put a hand on the back of your head to prevent himself from buckling and you both make a long noise.

You adjust the lollipop in your mouth, hold it in place, and slowly pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t resist you, and doesn’t remove his hand from your head as you remove your mouth from his dick, which is soaking wet and dripping. You rub your thumb over the head of it, smearing the viscous liquid around it. You rub him with two fingers, and then your entire hand, stroking his dick up and down to coat it in a mixture of your saliva and the transfluid that’s steadily leaking out of him.

“Please,” Shockwave says haltingly, as he braces himself against the bench with his other arm. “The…experiment has not been concluded.”

“Experiment?” you ask, sucking on the lollipop. “Oh yes - this extra experiment that you haven’t actually told me about. What exactly is it we’re proving or disproving here?”

“I…the…to see.”

“That sounds important.” You stroke him hard and twist, and he makes a stuttering sound of mechanical pleading.

“The…human mouth is a combination of muscles,” he finally stutters, dragging some basic information up from his depths. “It- this experiment is to exercise them. See how far they can…stretch.”

That sounds mildly plausible. 

“I’ve just demonstrated how far they can stretch,” you tell him. “But do you think they can go further?”

“…yes.”

“Well would you believe it, so do I.” You lick the tip of dick and make it even wetter. “I think my mouth can take more.”

“That…yes. It would be complete. The experiment. As well as- This one. The experiment. I need…complete results or-”

“Or you’ll be a failure?” You speak around the lollipop,

your hand now languidly stroking him. “Well we don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be associated with a failure. I have a poverty of life expectancy remember, and I don’t want to waste what I’ve got with a loser. So.”

You remove the lollipop from your mouth and hold onto his legs to brace yourself. You then slowly, slowly, take his dick back into your mouth. Shockwave doesn’t move. He lets you set the pace. Lets you do all the work more like. Not that you’re complaining, but you will complain out loud to him later just to annoy him. His dick reaches the back of your mouth again and you feel him relax slightly. 

Your scientist needs to learn to be more ambitious in his experiments with you. More fearless. 

You adjust your angle, instruct your muscles to relax further, and take his dick all the way down your throat until he’s fully hilted inside you. 

Shockwave shudders and grips your head harder. He then realises what he’s done and lets go immediately in case he’s hurt you, but he doesn’t want to break contact with you so he holds the back of your head again but this time lightly, but it’s not enough to stabilize him so he shoots his other arm out and scrabbles for whatever purchase he can find and makes a sound that sounds like dying.

He needs to get a hold of himself. You’re not even moving any more, and he’s reacting like he’s been blessed and cursed with divine revelation all at once. 

You pat the back of his legs to reassure him. 

Shockwaves’s stabiliser pistons finally align and steadies his frame.

And then you move. You fuck him slowly with your mouth. All the way up and then all the way back down. His dick tastes even better than that lollipop, and you suck him with control and purpose. Your chin is wet and your throat is sticky and your heart is thumping harder than you ever remember it doing.

Shockwave is doing his best to stay silent and is failing wonderfully. You wonder if he’ll match your rhythm and fuck you down your throat but he hasn’t, and you don’t suspect he will. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to use more than a fraction of his strength in case even that’s too much. His self-control is impressive and welcome, but it’s not complete. 

Shockwave is holding the back of your head lightly, but his fingers are tightening infinitesimally around your hair and scalp every time you suck the tip of his dick and swallow it all the way down to its base. His self-control is not infinite and not indestructible. He’s not dead inside.  

You eventually feel his frame tense and tighten around you, and hear the pitch and whine of his engines straining up a gear. You’re enveloped in heat and know he’s close.

“There…is time for one more experiment,” he manages to say, his voice thick with static.

“Mmmm?” you ask around his dick, your full mouth still moving.

“…apparently saliva can digest various substances and…so can stomach enzymes and…the mouth is part of the digestive system and…if you…if you…”

You’ve swallowed transfluid before and liked it and know it won’t hurt you. You’ve had The Talk with all the medics on board just to be sure, and so long as he doesn’t pour his entire tank down your throat in one go you’ll be fine.

You nod your consent, and Shockwave makes a noise that sounds like gratitude.

He’s a bit less steady on his feet now, a bit more erratic, a bit louder and less efficient in his movements but you’re not. You’re a steady constant in the face of his fast approaching overload, fucking him in a perfect rythym that surprises him more than it does you.

He grips you harder and spasms and his engines scream dangerously loud as he overloads hard in your mouth. A shot of transfluid hits the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag at the quantity of it. You hold his legs tighter to prevent him from going anywhere, because you’re not going to miss a moment of this. You swallow as much as you can, and revel in the mechanical rumbling stuttering sounds his engines make as they fight not to cut out. His silent cooling system is blasting hard, which feels like opening an oven door and putting your face into it. Your hair is stuck to your flushed and sweating face.

Shockwave eventually quietens and stills and begins to regain himself. A series of small clicks indicate his cooling system is powering down. You suspect he’d like to keep his dick down your throat all day if you agreed to it and while that’s not something you’re opposed to, far from it, your mind is already churning with possibilities as to what three hands and a cannon can do while your mouth is occupied, it’s an experiment for another day.

Right now you have your own needs to attend to, and first on that list is to clean up the mess he’s made on you as best you ca. You gave it a good try but you couldn’t swallow everything he gave you, you’re only human, and a lot of it leaked out of your mouth and dribbled down your chin and throat. Your skin is sticky and your clothes are splattered.

You move your head back until his dick pops out, and cup a hand underneath your mouth to catch the gush of fluid that spills out. You look up at Shockwave and raise that hand to your mouth and lap up what’s in it.

Shockwave’s overworked engines make a pitiful sound as they rev back up again. You suck your fingers clean, and then you put your underestimated human mouth to good use and clean him up. 

Your work is not completed quickly.

But finally it is, and you make an effort to casually sit back in satisfaction at completing a job well done.

“So what do you think?” you ask him off-handedly, as your body thrums and fizzes. You wish your own temperature control system was more effective, no matter how noisy it would have to be. Your shirt is stuck to your back and you’re entering the non-lethal stage of dehydration. “Was the experiment a success?”

“I think,” Shockwave says, as he pours you a glass of water from the sink, “That the human mouth is…interesting.”

He hands you the glass and you drink from it without pausing. You know that’s as close as Shockwave will ever come to saying that he thinks the human mouth is incredible, yours especially, and that he wants nothing more than to fill it and worship it again.

“But still a concerning mystery,” Shockwave continues, as he takes the empty glass from you. “It requires further research. A lot of research.”

He kneels down in front of you and puts a hand on your knee.

“In fact,” Shockwave says, his warm fingertips languidly stroking up the inside of your thigh as if the thought has just occurred to him, “the human body as a whole needs to be researched further. One system, one organ, one session at a time.” 

His hand stops on your buckled belt.

“A breakthrough has been achieved,” you tell him, picking up his hand and removing it from your belt. Despite his claims to be highly dexterous, you don’t have time to wait for him to use one hand when you have two.

“It’s a minor miracle.” You unbuckle your belt, pull your pants down, lean back against the wall and put one hand behind your head to cushion it. With your other hand you make a motion for him to hurry up and get to work because you both know you’ve earned this.

“You finally said something correct. Now let’s see what else you can accomplish.“

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 3,349 Warnings: Doctor, Examination, Bruises, Injury, Police Brutality Mention, Blood, Food Characters: Roman, Thomas, Virgil Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Angst/Family

Chapter 17

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Roman sat nervously kicking his feet in the doctor’s office. He didn’t like the doctor’s office. The smell of all the antiseptic always set him off. The crinkly paper on the exam table felt wrong. Tongue depressors made him feel sick. It brought up too many bad memories he had to fight to not fall into. Parents always resented having to take him if they ever even bothered so it felt like he was in trouble. They just rubbed him the wrong way, and he hated being here. The door opened and Roman looked up to see the doctor walk in.

   “So what brings you in today?”

   “Roman’s got a bad bruise over his ribs and we’d like it recorded and x-rayed,” Thomas motioned to Roman on the table. Roman waved nervously to the doctor with the tips of his fingers. He just wanted to get this over with and leave more than anything.

   “Can you show me the bruise?” The doctor asked. Roman swallowed and nodded, pulling up his shirt. The purple really came bursting out today. It was purple and green and just generally sickly looking, blossoming slightly from the original green blot. You could just barely make out the line from the rubber sole, just like Roman thought he would. They could probably see it better tomorrow.

   “That is a nasty one. What’s it from?” The Doctor asked, examining the mark closely.

   “Steel-toed boot,” Roman supplied. The doctor looked shocked for a moment and his face hardened.

   “Could you leave the room for a moment, Mr. Sanders?” The doctor asked firmly and Thomas nodded, getting out of the chair and stepping out into the hall. Roman looked desperately to Thomas as he left. He didn’t want to be left alone in here. Thomas gave him a small reassuring smile. He didn’t want a smile, he wanted Thomas back in here.

   “Are you safe at home?” The doctor asked.

   “Um, yeah, I think a cop did this,” Roman mumbled. “Can he come back in? Please?” Roman asked desperately, pointing at the door.

   “Oh, that’s very serious,” The doctor muttered and walked over to the door and opened it. “You can come back in, Mr. Sanders. All right, let me examine it and then we’ll send you down the hall for x-rays and photos if it’s necessary,” The doctor put his stethoscope on Roman’s back. “Breathe in,” Roman complied and winced. “And out,” Roman’s breath shuddered. They did it a second time with equally painful results. “Will you lie back on the table and hold your shirt up?” The Doctor asked. Roman nodded and leaned back to let the doctor prod at it. It was possibly more sore after deep breathing than it was before. “Does this hurt?”

   “Yes,” Roman hissed through his teeth. The doctor hummed in concern.

   “I need you to take another deep breath,” The doctor requested.

   “Do I really have to?” Roman moaned. It hurt like a bitch and this was the last place he wanted to be in pain.

   “I’m afraid so,” The doctor nodded. “Breathe in. Hold it. Alright, let it out slowly,” Roman hissed again as he let out the air, flinching. “Yes, I think x-rays will be necessary. Take a left when you exit and wait in the lobby on the right labeled Radiology and they’ll call you in. I’ll let the techs know they need to take regular photos when they’re done. It would be smart to take some photos yourself and document it for the next few days as well,” The doctor said. “I should be clear that I’m not willing to testify for the patient’s sake, I don’t have that kind of time. If you are planning on suing, you should get a doctor recommendation from a lawyer. I’m willing to document today’s evidence, though. Avoid anything that involves bending, lifting, twisting, or strenuous activity. Some ibuprofen for the pain if necessary is alright in the short term, but do not do it on too many continuous days,” The doctor explained before heading out the door.

   Roman slowly got up, really really mindful of his aching and painfully pulsing side. He had no idea what all that awful poking was about if he was going to just recommend x-rays after 3 minutes. He could have spared Roman the pain and sent him right to radiology, damnit.

   “We’re not suing, right?” Roman asked nervously, looking at Thomas with trepidation.

   “No, we’re just filing a complaint,” Thomas said, offering his arm to help Roman down. Roman took it cautiously and slid off the exam table. Roman just stared at Thomas in confusion.

   “Let’s get to the x-ray waiting room,” Thomas said, making sure Roman was stable before heading out of the exam room.

   The x-rays were also awful, with all kinds of deep breaths and holding them while holding his arms upon a bar. School would probably be better than this. Though they were also getting a note for him to sit out of gym and his missed days while they were here. And Roman was thankful for being allowed to sit out of gym. If he had to do push-ups or sit-ups he might actually cry from pain, and that would be incredibly embarrassing and he’d definitely get made fun of. Roman sort of spaced out in the car after they left. There was a really sharp pain now instead of the dull continuous pain from all the deep breathing. He hoped that would go down if he tried not to breathe too deeply.

   Roman mindlessly followed Thomas when they got out of the car, still kind of spacing out. He slid his hands in his pockets and shifted slightly when Thomas stopped and squatted down. The bottom of his right foot hurt much worse than the left and felt kind of hot, and he was trying to not put too much weight on it. Wait, why was Thomas squatting down? Roman looked at what Thomas was examining. It was a game case. When the hell did they get to a game store?

   “There’s apparently 5 of those games, Roman. We can grab two while we’re here. Excuse me, Miss? We’d like to buy some DS games,” Roman stood up and waved to the lady behind the register. She stopped leaning against the counter and came over to unlock the case.

   “Which ones, sir?” She asked in a very dispassionate retail-is-killing-me tone. Roman felt for her.

   “The first two Rune Factory games,” Thomas supplied. “You’ve got plenty of free time today to start playing,” Thomas said brightly and followed the lady over to the counter to pay. Roman was in a lot of pain and a shell-shocked. He didn’t know what to do about this. Roman glanced down to the case. At least they were kind of cheap. Roman’s allowance could cover them. The others cost more, but he could buy them with his allowance one at a time if he really wanted them. He really just wanted something chill to focus on so he wouldn’t have to listen to his brain all >night, just part of it. At least his allowance covered it. Roman followed to the counter and watched Thomas finish checking out.

   “Thank you,” Roman said gratefully as Thomas handed off the bag with a smile.

   “Anytime. We still have to swing by a pharmacy for some topical painkiller for your bruise and then we’ll head home. We can pick up a few other things while we’re there,” Thomas headed back out to the car and Roman followed close behind.

   The pharmacy was only a few minutes away and Roman returned to following closely behind Thomas while he was shopping. They went to the food aisles after grabbing some topical painkiller that smelled terrible. He picked a Gatorade after Thomas badgered him to grab a drink. Thomas grabbed a few bags of chips, some chocolates, and a box of cookies.

   “Do you need any school supplies while we’re here?” Thomas asked as they passed the office supply aisle.

   “I need a blue folder and a green folder,” Roman said, turning in to the aisle.

   “What is the school’s obsession with colored folders?” Thomas asked rhetorically and rolled his eyes. “Do you need any pencils or notebooks?”

   “Not really,” Roman mumbled as he grabbed the two folder colors he needed. Thomas grabbed two composition notebooks and a pack of pencils, anyway.

   “Just in case,” Thomas smiled. “What’s a kneaded eraser? It’s very squishy,” Thomas eyeballed a package.

   “It’s an eraser you can shape and knead. The more you knead it, it gets cleaner, too. It’s for fine erasing and charcoal,” Roman supplied.

   “Oh, that’s cool. Do you have one?” Thomas asked, picking up the package.

   “No,” Roman replied, examining a neat journal that went through the spectrum of the rainbow depending on the angle you held it to the light.

   “That’s a nice journal. Do you want to get it?” Thomas asked. Roman looked between Thomas and the journal, then tried to check the shelf. Thomas’s hand shot out and covered the tag with the basket. “No, no. Money non-withstanding. If you like it, put it in the basket. If you don’t like it and it was just shiny, put it back,” Roman started to put it back, but he had a feeling Thomas already saw right through him and sighed, sliding it in the basket beside the chips. “Thanks. That’s everything, let’s check out and head home,” Thomas smiled brightly. Roman rolled his eyes and slid his hands into his pockets as he followed Thomas to the register.

   Roman continued to space out on the ride home. He kept breathing shallowly to get the pain to go back down to dull instead of stabby, and it was making Roman kind of sleepy. Thomas let Roman carry in the bag of chips, but took the other two bags of items himself as they headed inside. Thomas took them right into the kitchen and started unloading them right away. Roman went to go put the chips in the pantry. Thomas handed Roman his Gatorade and cracked open his own lemonade.

   “Just for my own peace of mind, would you be willing to read or play your new game on the couch in my office?” Thomas asked, wadding up the plastic bags and putting them in a storage container on the inside of the pantry door.

   “I’m fine, Thomas,” Roman rolled his eyes.

   “How are your arms?” Thomas asked, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow.

   “Still itchy as hell,” Roman provided and Thomas raised his eyebrow. “Okay,” Roman huffed. “But can we bring in a bowl of those peanut butter pretzels?” Roman conceded and motioned to the pantry.

   “A very agreeable compromise,” Thomas chuckled and pulled a bowl from the cabinet.

   Roman went to go drop off the bag of school supplies in his room and grab some things. He wanted the throw for warmth. The ice packs for his bruise made him so cold. Roman’s feet really hurt, and he sat on the bed to take off his shoes. His eyes caught on his dark red sock. Oh. That’s why the right side hurt so much. Roman must have reopened a cut. He took off his other shoe and sock and examined the bottom. The bandages on the left foot were still intact and dry, though a little loose, probably from his shower. The other sock was sticking to his foot, and he tried to peel it off carefully without opening the wound worse. The bandage ripped off in the sock and Roman checked his foot. It wasn’t actively bleeding but also wasn’t exactly healed or even closed.

   “Roman? What’s taking so long?” Thomas called.

   “Nothing,” Roman called back, trying to figure out how to solve this without hurting his spine more.

   “I’ll decide that, if that’s okay,” Thomas said, walking in the open bedroom door. “Oh. Geez. Let me grab the first aid kit. I guess we pushed it too much this afternoon. We’ll have to be more careful the next few days,” Thomas said, sounding concerned.

   “No, it’s fine,” Roman tried to start and held up his hand to try to dissuade him.

   “Let’s not get blood on the floor if we can help it,” Thomas said, turning back out of the bedroom. Roman didn’t think about that. Thomas came back in with the kit and Roman reached out for it. “I’ve got it,” Thomas said, waving Roman off and sitting on the floor. He cleaned off the blood patch and re-bandaged everything on both feet. Roman felt awkward and wrung his comforter idly as he waited. “Hold on, I’ll get you some new socks to help protect them. Which drawer?”

   “Bottom of the dresser,” Roman pointed. Thomas pulled open the drawer and frowned, pulling out a pair of socks and scooted back over to slide them on.

   “Where are all your socks?” Thomas furrowed his eyebrows.

   “I haven’t done laundry yet,” Roman shrugged. Thomas eyed the bloody sock on the bed.

   “Oh, hm, well, we can throw those out and get you some more socks,” Thomas offered.

   “No need, I just need to soak it in hydrogen peroxide and ice water,” Roman said, getting up carefully and tossing them in the laundry basket. Thomas hummed in disapproval but didn’t say anything. Roman grabbed his things for the couch and headed downstairs with Thomas, who took Roman’s load with one arm and held out his forearm for Roman to hold. He didn’t think all this was necessary, but it hurt going upstairs and the help wouldn’t be uncalled for. He took Thomas’s arm to descend carefully.

   Roman settled down on the couch in Thomas’s office and Thomas passed over his DS with an appreciative smile. Roman took it carefully and nodded to him. At least Thomas was thankful Roman was willing to humor him. The DS was actually one of the newer ones, so it had the bigger screens and an extra joystick. Roman had brought down his old wired pair of headphones to plug into it along with the bluetooth pair in case he got sick of the game music. He reached out for a pretzel bite and loaded up the game.

   The start was slow, almost unbearably so, but Roman was determined to get to the monster murder part and stuck it out. Plus, the music was nice, and the characters were interesting. It really was relaxing to play, even if Roman was feeling impatient. Roman wrapped up in his throw from his bed and leaned against the arm of the couch with his feet up. When he looked up, he could see Thomas’s really focused face as he typed away at his computer. Thomas didn’t seem to acknowledge Roman staring at him, so either he didn’t care or didn’t notice. Roman went back to clearing out the farm.

   “Welcome back, Virgil,” Thomas called from his desk and Roman looked up from the game to see a very sarcastic smile in the doorway, flipping him off. Virgil was in a good mood, he guessed.

   ‘Thomas got more chips,’ Roman signed after he put down the DS in his lap. Virgil looked excited and left the doorway immediately.

   “What did you say to him?” Thomas asked curiously as Roman picked back up the DS.

   “I told him about the chips,” Roman said passively, pulling out his sword and taking down some orcs.

   “I worry about that kid’s sodium intake,” Thomas said with a concerned look, then turned back to his computer and went back to work. Lita joined Roman up on the couch at one point while Roman was playing. Eventually, the screen made his eyes hurt a, and he closed it up. He laid back on the couch and watched some ASL lessons on YouTube on his phone instead. He needed to learn a bit more vocabulary. And food signs. He put his phone upon his legs and signed along as guided.

   Roman got through 3 videos before yawning defeated him from learning and he gave up to just watch YouTube in general, sinking further into the loveseat. There was an annoying guy who sucked at craft projects and cussed like a sailor that he couldn’t seem to stop watching. He chuckled through his nose as the guy covered his hand in fake blood from some fake injury involving sharp objects. He also watched a guy and his goth girlfriend with a killer eyeliner game try Instagram foods and take a blowtorch to donuts. Other than the ones that set on fire, they looked good. He was actually getting kind of hungry. He reached out and fruitlessly checked the bowl for any more pretzel bites. Darn. Roman glanced at the time on the wall clock, wondering if he should snack or not.

   “How do you feel about take-out tonight? I’m kind of on a roll here,” Thomas asked, continuing to type. That was pretty impressive for a guy who didn’t look like he was paying any attention at all. Could he see Roman while he was working? Was he secretly psychic? He did somehow know when Roman scratched his bandages from another room yesterday.

   “Um, whatever’s fine,” Roman mumbled.

   “Will you find out what Virgil wants?” Thomas asked, continuing to type.

   “Uh, sure,” Roman opened the texting app and messaged Virgil. “Indian or Thai,” Roman told Thomas as soon as Virgil responded.

   “I should have guessed. Let’s get Thai,” Thomas said, pulling out his phone. He sent menu links to Roman, Virgil, and Patton in a group chat. Virgil replied with Tom Yum Kung pretty quickly. Roman hadn’t eaten Thai much, so he just picked Pad Thai, since it’s one he’d tried before and liked it. Thomas asked Patton to make the order and pick it up in the chat and went back to work quickly. Roman returned to watching things on YouTube. After a few videos, he realized he probably should catch up on his homework. He’d been wasting too much time today with that giant pile upstairs. Roman folded up his throw and got up.

   “Hey, where are you going?” Thomas said, without moving his head or stopping. Okay, so Thomas could see him. Was this another dad powers thing or did he have amazing peripheral vision? It was weird.

   “Homework,” Roman said as he picked up all his things.

   “No, you need a break today,” Thomas said, shaking his head.

   “I took a break yesterday,” Roman furrowed his eyebrows. “I have stuff to do,”

   “You are recovering,” Thomas said firmly.

   “I’m already behind on my homework,” Roman objected.

   “You were behind when you got here. Patton or I am happy to help you catch up tomorrow,” Thomas offered with a sly smile.

   “I’m sorry, you’re seriously telling me not to do my homework?” Roman asked incredulously.

   “That’s exactly right,” Thomas nodded, looking bemused.

   “Score. Then I’m getting the laptop to play Minecraft,” Roman smiled and motioned to the living room.

   “That’s fine. Please walk carefully,” Thomas requested. Roman came back into Thomas’s office with the laptop and sat cross-legged with the blanket folded up in his lap to hold the laptop. He connected his headphones and loaded back up the mansion behind the waterfall creative mode he was playing the other day.

   Virgil knocked on the door and Roman and Thomas looked up. Virgil pointed to Roman and Thomas looked back to his monitor.

   ‘What are you doing in here?’ Virgil signed to him, looking around.

   ‘Minecraft,’ Roman fingerspelled.

   ‘That’s Minecraft’ Virgil showed him the correct sign, which was just a digging motion on the palm for mine, then fingerspelling craft, which was odd. ‘But I meant in his office,’

   ‘Thanks. Thomas is concerned for me or whatever,’ Roman shrugged and motioned with his head to Thomas.

   ‘Lame,’ Virgil signed and stuck out his tongue.

   ‘I know,’ Roman rolled his eyes. Virgil walked away again and Roman returned to his craft.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15  @ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository:

High school:  @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra  @potatsanderssides

Roman Angst:  @k1ngtok1

Hurt Comfort:  @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

Roman-Centric:  @smileyzs  @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd

Fostering AU:  @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides:  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun  @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven  @ananonsplace 

[ineffablegame]

Also published on my Ao3.

Serious

It’s a curious experience, this – watching a face he knows so well, a face he has known for six millennia, as it shapes and reshapes before his eyes like wet clay.

Curious, Crowley thinks, and utterly wrong.

“Oh, blast,” Aziraphale mutters as his face slips back into itself, soured with a moue of frustration.  He sets down the hand mirror he’s been using to monitor his progress, fingers knotting on the tabletop.  “I nearly had it that time.”

The snarl of tension behind Crowley’s ribs loosens.  Aziraphale’s voice is light on his tongue, a breath of cool air.  “Yeah, you nearly did.”

Aziraphale shoots Crowley an envious look.  “I don’t see how you can do it so easily.  You got it right on your first try.”

Crowley reminds himself he is no longer wearing his sunglasses.  Masked in the angel’s face, he has no business wearing them.  He affects a tone as cool as a corpse on the slab and says, “Yes, well.  We have known each other for six-thousand years.  I’m surprised you haven’t memorized my face.”

“I have,” Aziraphale huffs.  “But there’s quite a difference between knowing a face and wearing it.”

Crowley shrugs, because shrugging is simultaneously more eloquent and vague than saying I can slip into your face like an old coat because I’ve been quite keenly memorizing it for thousands of years. “Maybe it’s a demon… thing. Wasn’t so difficult, going from serpent-shaped to man-shaped.  Though walking was a bit of a trick.”

Aziraphale flicks Crowley a reproachful look and redoubles his efforts. He screws up his face – jaw set, eyes clamped shut, nose scrunched.  It’s the sort of look he gets when he’s purging a great deal of alcohol from his system.

Crowley finds himself fighting a smile.

The battle is short-lived.  Crowley watches, increasingly unnerved, as Aziraphale’s face changes – now soft, now familiar, now not.  The rounded cheeks grow thin.  The smiling mouth flattens.  The smooth jawline slopes into a hard angle.  The downy-white curls grow coarse, darkening to the char of hellfire.

Aziraphale opens his eyes and beams.  “Finally!”

Crowley coughs past the lump in his throat.  “Nnh.  Not quite.”

Aziraphale consults the hand mirror.  “Bugger.”

Crowley is equal parts scandalized and delighted.  “Angel!  Language.”

“Well, if I’m going to play the demon, I might as well talk the part.” Aziraphale glares at the mirror, blinking hard, but his eyes remain obstinately blue-grey.  “Assuming I can manage that much.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” says Crowley.  If he’s perfectly honest with himself – and he never is – he’s relieved Aziraphale has kept this small piece of himself.  When they decided to undertake this ruse, Crowley could never have predicted the gut-churning wrongness of watching his friend warp into a demonic form.  Aziraphale is by no means a paragon among angels, but this halting progress is like watching a lamb totter alone down a sheer cliff face.  One misstep, and he might Fall.

“Look,” says Crowley, “even I’m not perfect.”

He darts out his tongue, forked and hissing, from Aziraphale’s mouth.  The angel scowls.  “Be serious, Crowley.”

“I am being serious,” Crowley says, seriously.  “If Gabriel gets out the tongue depressors, we’ll know the jig is up.”

“I do wish you would treat this situation with the gravity it deserves. If our respective bosses discover our ploy—”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley sighs.  “Just let me have this.”

Aziraphale picks up the hand mirror with one hand and touches the corners of his eyes with the other, as if to stretch them into compliance.  “I almost had it, but it keeps slipping away—if only I could… anchor it, somehow, make it stay put…”

Sighing, the angel sets down the mirror and looks at Crowley.  It’s a kind of look Crowley knows well – a pleading, wheedling, I’m-so-helpless-without-you expression that has compelled him to drop miraculous favors like so many shed skins over the millennia.  Even on a replica of his face, the look is potent.

Crowley may have invented the art of wiling, but sometimes he suspects Aziraphale perfected it.

Crowley wants to reach across, to offer an anchor.  He hesitates.  Thinks about the steady pulsing beat of Soho nightclubs, of neon lights daubing lurid pink on the nape of Aziraphale’s neck.  Of far-flung starlight and the sucker punch of it’s over.

Perhaps the thoughts are as vivid on his face as they are in his memory, for Aziraphale’s pleading softens.  The angel reaches across the table and offers his hand, palm-up.

“I could use a spot of demonic influence,” he says.

Crowley makes a sort of sound he can only hope passes for scorn.  He lays his hand atop Aziraphale’s, determined to be cool and removed.  But all cold-blooded creatures seek warmth, and Crowley cannot ignore the soft, careworn creases of the angel’s palm, the heat suffusing his skin.  He is reminded of daylight slanting through lush leaves, of sun-warmed bark beneath his scales.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes.  Crowley blinks out of his reverie.  The angel’s eyes are bright chips of amber, slashed through by slit pupils. Aziraphale – as Crowey – grins.  “Finally.”

Crowley slips his hand away, flexing his fingers.  “’Bout time.  Best get on with it.”

“Ah—right.  Yes, of course.  I suppose you—no, I should go first, shouldn’t I?” A nervous laugh.  “Goodness.  If this works, it will cause quite a stir.”

“Hmm.  Yeah.” Crowley passes his sunglasses to his mirror image.  “Can’t forget these.  I wouldn’t go anywhere without them.”

Aziraphale picks up the glasses and delicately perches them on the bridge of his nose.  “I might not be quite as spiffing as you, dear boy.  I’ll do my best, of course, but…”

Crowley waves a hand.  “Neh. Don’t worry.  Just try to be as cool as possible and we’ll get through this without a fuss.”

He may be imagining it, but for an instant, Aziraphale’s smile looks strained. “Yes, I expect we must.”

They move to the front door of Crowley’s flat, each wobbly with the novelty of the other’s corporation.  Crowley remembers his first stumbling steps on two legs, the cool stone of Eden’s walls under his feet.  They pause on the doorstep.

“Well?” says Crowley.  “Got any advice for me?”

Aziraphale smiles sadly.  “No.  Gabriel and the others shouldn’t notice anything amiss.”

Crowley nods and reaches for the knob.  Aziraphale places his hand on the doorframe, sealing it shut.  “Just… one thing,” he says.  “Please be careful, Crowley.”

Crowley can’t argue with that sentiment.  If he fails, he won’t be the one to burn.

“’Course,” he says.  He turns and stalks out of the flat, raising one hand in farewell.  “Be seeing you, angel.”

Silence for a beat.  Then, urgently:  “Crowley—”

Crowley turns just in time to see the door snap shut.  He stares, unblinking, at the spot where Aziraphale stood not seconds ago.  Then he sighs, turns, and strolls down to the pavement.  Down to the Soho bookshop.  Down, inevitably, to Upstairs.