Chapter Text
It was tricky.
He and Vyce were biologically incompatible. Any environment he could survive in would be at least mildly toxic to the interdimensional conqueror, and vice versa. Physical contact without a protective barrier between them would injure them both, possibly severely, depending on the duration of the contact.
The robot’s fleshy exterior was - imperfect. It failed to cover one hand, and a few inconvenient other bits. All he had between his legs was a dataport and a few tatters of skin. Whether or not he had a libido was up in the air, although the alternate Linkara whose skin he wore had programmed him with a few quite useful subroutines. The issue of mutual toxicity with Vyce was less pressing for him than it was for Linksano, as there was less of a question of fluid residues, but extended contact with Vyce or his environment would be corrosive for him, and likewise, even his metal parts were mildly poisonous for Vyce.
“This is a stupid tradition,” Mechakara complained.
“I will not attempt to justify it rationally,” Lord Vyce brushed off his comment. “I have travelled alone through a dozen universes, and have had the cause to celebrate the imminent fall of a champion each time, but not the means. Now that I have independent sapient allies to celebrate with, I will not pass up the opportunity.”
Linksano knew in his heart that the robot was right, but it had been a very, very long time since anyone had offered, and he was far from immune to temptation. Mechakara, at least, was reasonably attractive, too. “I’m sure I can work something out,” he mumbled. “Will the ship’s fabricator do latex?”
Incorporating an extension into Vyce’s suit was simple enough; the complicated part was creating it with a layer on the inside that was biologically inert for Vyce and a second layer on the outside that would be inert for him, without having the two layers separate or break each other down, or be too thick for their intended purposes.
It was probably going to taste weird, but at this point he really didn’t care.
As it turned out, it wasn’t relevant; Vyce wanted him bent over the console. After some discussion, Mechakara volunteered to kneel in the space under the instrument panel and suck him off while Vyce fucked his brains out. Whether that was so he had to look at as little exposed flesh as possible or just because he was used to fellatio wasn’t clear, but the fact that he’d volunteered for it put Linksano’s mind a little more at ease.
He’d expected Vyce to be hung like a horse; instead, he filled out the extension nicely without straining it. Linksano arched his back and hoped to science that Vyce would use enough lube.
“For all that I see, I conquer,” Vyce purred in his ear, and the hair on Linksano’s neck stood up.
“Don’t tense up,” Mechakara murmured from under the desk. “It’ll just hurt more.” The robot’s mouth was cold, but his tongue was well-programmed.
If this was what being conquered felt like, then perhaps Linksano could be persuaded to surrender.