robotfvckers:

Zencio for a special friendo who had a bad day yesterday. Here’s to you, boo. ❤

---

“You ready?” Lúcio asks, fingers poised over his control console. He smiles at Zenyatta, who nods and traces the thin cable plugged into his chest. It’s a quiet night at the watchpoint, the time between missions stretching long enough that they can relax and have a breather for once.

Lúcio taps the screen, illuminating a small square button. Music pours from the speakers lining each wall in the small room, a click on the track catching Zenyatta by surprise. The sound pulses through his circuits in waves, beginning in the center of his chest, pumping in time, ambient swells caressing down to the tips of his fingers, vibrating to the soles of his feet. Warmth blooms along his chassis, soft but undeniable, like hearing Lúcio’s music in the field, only instead of around it’s inside him.

“Fascinating.” Zenyatta hums, the ghost sensations growing more vibrant by the second, building with the tempo of the music. His well-tempered calm slips away in increments, replaced by a strange giddiness.

“Yeah? Says you’re showing increased energy levels.” He hears the smile in Lúcio’s voice as the DJ pecks at his station, glancing over as he works his analog and digital instruments in time, operating the set-up like it isn’t an unlabeled mass of cables and knobs and screens. Even after spending so much time with him, memorizing each switch and button, cataloging them in his feeds, Zenyatta’s captivated by how easily Lúcio’s hands dance over the console.

A familiar warmth, as secretive and slow as the first, pools down his wires as he stares at Lúcio’s hands, joining the already heightened sensations undulating through him. His grip tightens on the cable at his chest, the finest tremble clicking the smaller, looser wires of his body together. Lúcio continues to spin as the pressure builds, gentle and on rhythm, cresting into something that feels familiar, like—

“A-ah.” Zenyatta gasps, stilling, wires pulsing like the flutter of Lúcio’s heart when he touches his chest.

Lúcio stops and looks at him, the beat continuing without fluctuation. Zenyatta plants a hand on the table, pitching forward, sensation searing through his wires, stronger with every click. The bundle of nerves between his legs surges thick and heavy, twitching with energy, nearly overloaded with it.

“You…still okay?” Lúcio grips his forearm, angles Zenyatta’s face towards him with a gentle hand at his chin, as if he could read an omnic expression. Maybe he can, knows the flickering of Zenyatta’s array, feels the fine trembling of his faceplate like morse code. Lúcio’s cheeks darken at the next soft cry, ripe with static.

“Feels good?” His voice drops and he leans closer, slotting his smaller body into Zenyatta’s side, eyes tracking his face. His hand moves behind him, still plucking at the console, controlling the tempo, the intensity, gauging Zenyatta’s reactions and playing off them, playing him, like an instrument.

“Yes.” Zenyatta hisses, sounds alien, tight and needy. The tempo quickens, 150 beats per minute, 160, each note flooding pulse after pulse through him, reverberating from the tips of his systems and flooding back, cascading and colliding and building.

“Can I touch you? The noises you’re making are really doing something for me.”

Zenyatta keens, throws an arm over the small human and pulls him to his chest, hard enough to hurt, perhaps, but the swell of music, euphoric, harmonious, revitalizes them both. Zenyatta jerks, ruts into the firm warmth of Lúcio’s stomach, clutching his lower back in a vice, synth warbling as his sytems start to offline.

“O-oh, I am going to—ah!”

“Yeah, come for me, Zenyatta.” Lúcio laughs, weaseling his hand into the loose lip of Zenyatta’s pants, hands expertly pushing the sequencing of Zenyatta’s modesty panel. The moment those sensitive, overclocked nodes receive the manual stimulation of Lúcio’s calloused fingers cupping and rolling around them, he is lost.

Zenyatta overloads with a long, whimpering note, crackling as the base drops, losing his footing as the heightened input crashes core functions, but Lúcio holds him like his isn’t inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. The omnic chirps and clutches at him, mindless, then boneless, in Lúcio’s arms. The man’s hands tease up the red cables of his spine, gently unplug the cable from his chest so he can press his face to it, nuzzling.

“That was amazing.” Lúcio murmurs, kissing at the warm paneling.

Zenyatta’s fans kick on belatedly, steam rustling Lúcio’s hair. The DJ laughs, and Zenyatta joins after freeing up the processing power, the sound like melodic bells against the soft, continuing music. Zenyatta captures Lúcio’s chin in his hands, bumps his faceplate against his cheek. Lúcio kisses at the golden lip, breath clouding the chrome.

“I would be offended if you did not let me return the favor.” The omnic replies, voice an octave lower and warm with promise.

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”