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Stone had always been good at taking and following orders without question - anyone who got to his position in the government had to be.
He had known, from the first moment he met Dr. Robotnik, that the man wasn’t looking for equals. He didn’t want subordinates with opinions or initiative - he wanted tools, extensions of his own genius, instruments that functioned as expected and followed his commands without question.
And Stone could be that tool - for the most part.
He was good at being useful, good at finding ways to prove his utility to the Doctor. And that was why he had spoken up.
"Doctor, I should accompany you to the meeting."
It wasn’t an unreasonable suggestion, at least not to Stone. The meeting was critical - an opportunity for Robotnik to secure funding for his latest prototype. But there was one catch: no Badniks allowed.
Robotnik was dangerous in his own right - Stone wasn’t naïve enough to doubt that. But the Doctor also wasn’t a soldier. Stone, on the other hand, had personally seen combat up-close. He had trained for it. Gun fights, knife fights, hand-to-hand combat - Stone was skilled in all of those and more. Robotnik, for all his brilliance and skill, preferred to let machines do the dirty work.
Stone could help him in that regard - he could do the dirty work in the Badniks place, on the off chance anything did occur.
Robotnik didn’t even glance up from his workstation at Stone's statement. His hands, clad in his sleek black control gloves, moved over the interface with mechanical precision, adjusting the settings on the display hologram model of the prototype.
"No."
Stone hesitated. The response was flat, final - typical. But he knew how to handle rejection. You didn’t work for a man like Robotnik and expect warmth.
Still, something in his gut told him to try again.
"Sir, I just think that I-"
The fingers stilled, and Stone knew he was digging himself deeper into his own grave.
Stone swallowed, and continued. "-should be there. If something happens, I'm skilled in combat. It's my job to-"
A slow turn of the head. The dark lenses of Robotnik’s glasses fixed on him, unreadable. Robotnik’s smirk was razor-thin, a clear sign that he was anything but happy.
Stone wisely decided to stop talking, squaring his shoulders as he awaited his inevitable punishment for talking back to his boss.
"Oh, do tell," Robotnik spun in his chair to face Stone and almost purred as he spoke, like a cat playing with its food, "what is your job, Agent Stone?"
Stone felt his stomach tighten but forced his voice to be level, his gaze straight ahead. "To assist you - and to protect you, sir."
A silence stretched between them, so thin it felt like it could snap under its own weight.
Then Robotnik stood.
Stone didn’t move as the Doctor approached, though his instincts screamed at him to take a step back. To lower his gaze. To not challenge him.
Robotnik came closer, until Stone could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence an oppressive - and dangerous - weight.
"Pin yourself to the wall," Robotnik said, voice like the click of a gun being cocked.
Stone blinked. "...sir?"
Robotnik stepped into his space, backing him up without a single touch. "Did I stutter, Agent Stone?"
Stone moved.
The cold press of metal met his back as he flattened himself against the lab wall, standing at attention, his spine locking into the perfect posture that came with years of military experience.
He didn’t know why his breath felt shallow, why his heartbeat was so loud in his ears.
Robotnik stopped just short of touching him, tipping his head slightly as he observed him like a machine evaluating a faulty component.
Stone held still.
He knew better than to speak now.
The Doctor let the silence stretch.
Stone’s pulse pounded a thunderous drumbeat against his ribs.
Robotnik wasn’t angry - or at least, not his usual type of angry. That was the worst part. There was no shouting, no dramatic outburst, no thrown wrenches to dodge. Just that quiet, assessing stare that let Stone know he had fucked up. Majorly.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Robotnik lifted his gloved hand between them.
"Do you know why I always wear these, Stone?"
Stone swallowed. His eyes flickered to the black control glove, the sleek design of it, the way it flexed as Robotnik curled and uncurled his fingers. He had never seen the Doctor without his gloves - they were a constant presence, no matter the situation.
"They control your Badniks," he answered, careful to keep his voice measured. Then, quickly, "Sir."
Robotnik smirked. "Oh, so you do pay attention. Good."
He turned his hand, inspecting his own palm, then flexed his fingers again.
"But... that's not all they can do."
A quiet shnk cut through the air.
Stone barely had time to process the motion before metal claws slid from the fingertips of Robotnik’s glove. Not the clunky, exaggerated kind of a cheap villain in an action film - these were precise, surgical, curving ever so slightly like the claws of a cat. Lethally sharp.
Stone’s throat went dry.
He had always assumed the gloves were just interfaces for the Doctor's machines, complex tools that allowed Robotnik to command his creations with mere gestures. But this-
"Efficient," Robotnik murmured, turning his palm to admire the deadly extensions of his fingers. "Elegant. Precise."
His lips curled into a smirk as he turned his dangerously sharp gaze back to Stone.
"Unlike some people."
Before Stone could react, Robotnik lunged.
A gloved hand seized his throat, shoving him hard against the wall he was standing against.
Stone barely made a sound - not because he wasn’t surprised, but because the pressure left no room for it.
The claws pressed into his skin.
Not deep. Not yet.
But just enough to warn him of what could happen.
His breath stuttered as the sharp points of the claws pressed into his skin, not deep enough to wound severely but just enough to make their presence impossible to ignore.
Robotnik leaned in close, his voice a silken thing, coiling around Stone’s nerves like a wire tightening.
"I could rip out your throat in a single moment, Stone," he said smoothly, his breath hot upon Stone's cheek. "And if you ever insinuate that I need anyone other than myself-"
A sharp press of the claws.
Stone inhaled sharply, his pulse jumping. Heat coiled in his stomach, sharp and wrong.
"-I just might."
God.
Stone's breath hitched.
He should be afraid.
He was afraid.
But not in the way he should be.
A shiver worked its way down Stone’s spine, heat and something heavier curling low in his stomach.
It wasn’t fear.
It should have been.
His body betrayed him, warmth pooling low in his abdomen, the sharp sting of claws against his skin making something deep inside him tighten. His body had no right responding the way it did, his pulse skipping for all the wrong reasons. His throat ached, but not from pain alone.
He forced his hands to stay at his sides.
To not grip Robotnik’s wrist like he wanted to.
To not tilt his head just slightly, just enough to see if Robotnik would tighten his grip.
He felt the slow trickle of blood down his throat, warmth against cool air. Not enough to be a problem. Enough to be a warning.
Robotnik’s grip didn’t ease.
"Do we have an understanding, Stone?"
Stone’s throat worked against the claws as he swallowed.
"Yes, Doctor."
Robotnik held the position for a fraction longer, searching him, testing him.
Stone didn’t struggle.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t protest.
And - God help him - that made Robotnik’s lips twitch as something flickered across his features.
Interest.
Or amusement.
Or something Stone wasn’t sure he wanted to name.
Slowly, with almost lazy precision, Robotnik uncurled his fingers, the claws retracting with a quiet snikt.
Stone inhaled sharply, not because he had been holding his breath, but because the lack of contact left him feeling off-balance.
Robotnik stepped back, rolling his shoulders as if the entire exchange had been nothing. He lifted his hand, examining the smears of Stone’s blood upon the fingertips of his glove.
"Hmm," he mused, more to himself than to Stone.
His gaze slid back to Stone, scanning him up and down like a scientist evaluating an experiment.
"Clean yourself up," he ordered. "I better not see a single drop of blood in my lab when I return."
Then, just like that, he turned and strode out.
The doors slid shut behind him.
Stone exhaled. Slowly. Shakily.
His fingers lifted to his throat, ghosting over the shallow cuts dotted around his neck.
The sting was still there. A phantom sensation of pressure where claws had lingered. A pulse of something sharp and dark curled in his chest.
Stone's head thudded back against the wall that he had just been pinned against as he let out a breathless chuckle, almost disbelieving.
"Shit."
He had it bad.