It started with words—sharp, heated, and laced with the edge of rivalry that had defined your encounters for so long. But then, somehow, words had twisted into something else. Your hand brushed against his exposed wires, deliberate and taunting, tugging just enough to send a spark through his system. He was trying to process the sensation.

It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either.

“Do you enjoy testing my limits, truly?” his voice rasped, tinged with both annoyance and intrigue. He didn’t move to stop you, though.

Your response wasn’t verbal—it was a kiss, pressed against the cold metal of his mask. It was maddeningly human, soft where he was hard, warm where he was cold. His systems sputtered, a warning light blinking somewhere in the recesses of his mind. But his organic hand—one of the few remnants of his former self—reached out, curling around your waist, pulling you closer.

Your lips trailed downward, pressing against the sharp edges of his plating, the faint hum of his machinery vibrating under your touch. The sounds you made—low, breathy, alive—were almost too much. Viktor’s grip tightened, and his synthetic eye dimmed as though his system couldn’t quite handle the conflicting inputs. Overload. Overheating. His internal diagnostics screamed at him, but he ignored them all.

“You’re… inefficient,” he muttered, though his voice wavered, betraying the chaos within him. His mechanical hand cupped the back of your neck, steady but unsure, as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you deeper into his world.

When you tugged again at the wires along his chest, a faint whir escaped him—half a sigh, half a growl. His mask grew hot where your lips lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if he’d miscalculated everything. You were human, reckless, imperfect.

And yet, in this moment, you were an equation he couldn’t solve.

He tilted his head, letting your lips meet his jaw—flesh and steel merging in a way that felt dangerously close to right.