The monastery was impressive in and off itself, though all it’s simple grandeur seemed to pale compared to its unique master.
Reinhardt let the curtain fall close behind him, straightening from the awkward crouch the doorways were forcing him into. He smiled, a little uncertain, head tilting towards the Omnic standing in front of the simple desk occupying the middle of the room, hands folded in front of his lap.
“No doors, huh?”
“We have nothing to hide from each other. We are brothers and sisters in the Iris.”
Reinhardt watches him, good eye roving across the faceplate, the diamond grid of teal lights – the accents of pretty gold and tasteful matte white against shining chrome.
He remembers the night well – the night after he lost usefulness of his left eye; when he went out into the seedy underbelly of a city far away from home.
He can’t help blundering ahead, body filled with nervous energy: “You’re still just as pretty as…”
Mondatta doesn’t react for a long time. He is standing still as a statue, back straight, grey robes tastefully draped across the tall, slender body. Reinhardt ducks his head, uncharacteristically shy.
“You don’t remember me. It’s been a long while – and humans do age, unfortunately.”
“I remember you. You had never given me your name, but… I remember you.”
Reinhardt jerks, glancing up with his good eye. Mondatta has stepped closer, body still rigid. Contained. As pretty and unreachable as he looked on TV and the posters and magazines.
Reinhardt’s mouth goes dry thinking of their encounter many years ago. He can still hear Mondatta’s voice fraying at the edges, cracking and warbling all over the place from getting stuffed with cock.
“You are still very… impressive. I had thought my sensors might have played a trick on me, but…”
Mondatta trails off, one hand coming up in an involuntary, small gesture. His fingers halt in the air, before slowly curling into his palm. He had no facial expression and still Reinhardt felt like he was embarrassed.
The leader of the Shambali – the famous Mondatta… embarrassed.
Reinhardt steps closer. He catches the undecided hand before it can be pulled back towards the body once more, cradling it in huge palms. He leans down.
“Nothing to hide from your brothers and sisters, yes?”
Mondatta’s head tilts regally, the light glinting off his golden jaw. He sniffs haughtily – an entirely artificially produced sound, but doesn’t pull his hand away.
“There is nothing to hide.”
Reinhardt dips his voice into a low rumble, fingers slowly dragging across Mondatta’s palm, circling the sensor he finds there.
“So they all know that you’ve got the prettiest little cunt I’ve ever seen?”
Mondatta jerks, lax fingers abruptly curling in and shielding his palm from more advances. He tilts his body away, looking through a small, open window.
Doesn’t pull his hand out of his grip.
Reinhardt has no idea what the Omnic might be thinking but barrels on either way, all false lion bravado: “I’m not here to humiliate you.” He can see the teal lights flash hot. Once. Interesting. “I suppose I just needed you to know… How much I admire you.”
Mondatta turns his head back towards him.
“Admire, yes?” he says slowly, and there definitely is a hint of amusement in that cool, modulated voice this time. Reinhardt feels like preening and has to stop himself running a hand obsessively through his mane of hair.
“I suppose…” Mondatta mimics, hand moving, curling around Reinhardt’s thick wrist as he steps closer – close enough for Reinhardt to hear the soft workings of his mechanical body. “… I would be lying if I were to imply I hadn’t thought about your… great… endeavors once in a while. Your exploits are well known, even in Nepal, after all.”
Reinhardt can’t help but guffaw.
“Let them hear. Let them hear how happy you are with me. Mein Gott you’re still so perfect.”
He’s fucking in sharp little snaps of his hips, driving in deep, making Mondatta take all of him into that gorgeous golden cunt. He has one large hand curled around the back of the Omnic’s neck, shielding the delicate wires from his madly fumbling fingers.
Mondatta whistles softly and arches beneath him, hands trying to find purchase on Reinhardt’s scarred back. He can feel the ergonomic silicone tips try and fail to scratch him up – and wasn’t that a compliment in and off itself?
His mouth is greedy, dragging wet, sucking kisses along the pristine length of Mondatta’s golden jaw as he pushes in deep, cock spreading the silky walls of his cunt apart and nudging rudely against those hidden, unused sensors.
He can hear Mondatta’s processors trying to keep up with the new input; scrambling to pull up protocols long since locked away beneath fail safe programs.
“Let them hear,” he rumbles, hips twinging with the enthusiastic action but not enough to stop him from pushing deep, grinding his cock in just to feel the cool, soft texture of the gold mesh lips against his pubic bone – and hear Mondatta cry out for the first time, voicebox scrambling to keep up.
“You… you are… you are incorrigible.” Mondatta is practically whining – that ever composed, cool voice trembling, cutting out half way through. His lights are pulsing, a fast, insistent staccato and Reinhardt feels a stupid surge of affection at the sight.
It was hardly an ideal place; lying on the floor on a hasty makeshift bed made from Mondatta’s robes and Reinhardt’s coat, but it would have to do. He wouldn’t be able to drag himself away from that gorgeous golden cunt even under threat. He wouldn’t been able to stop fucking even if the whole Shambali congregation had migrated towards this little, remote room in the monastery to watch their spiritual leader get fucked like a harlot, wrecked on German cock until he had to forcibly reboot.
“Let. Them. Hear,” Reinhardt growls, laughter rumbling somewhere behind the words, every syllable accompanied by a harsh thrust, cock dipping in deep, spreading Mondatta far and indecently wide on the girth.
He could hear the scrape of one metal heel on the ground – the other was slung around Reinhardt’s hips, holding on as Mondatta curled around him and trembled, pistons moving, vents puffing out steam, inner mechanics working to massage along Reinhardt’s cock…
“Mister… W-W-Wilhelm,” Mondatta whines – honest to god whines right into his ear, soft and breathy and just like the pleasurebot he’s once been: “Please!”
Reinhardt thinks he might die of a heart attack.