Mindfuck

"The hand is coming to get you…" you intone to yourself in a mock-scary voice. You bring your hand closer to your face… "The hand is coming to get you…" you repeat in what you hope is a ghastly whisper. "The hand… the hand… the hand, the hand," you whisper in increasing tempo until it resembles the Jaws theme, as you bring your hand ever-closer. You grab your own face. "Oh no!"

You use your hand to shake your head as if it's your hand's prey, until you're giggling too hard to continue.

Ah. The joys of living alone.

Just as you grab your own face again, Cygnus spawns in, in the way they always do - in a whooshing cloud of wispy black fog. (You sometimes wonder if Cygnus practices making the cloud appear and disappear with maximum theatrical effect.)

"I'm sorry to intrude, Phaeton," says Cygnus. They notice your hand clamped to your face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just some hand activities."

"…I should know better than to ask."

"I'm always happy to see you," you say, removing your hand from your face. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Actually, yes- Argh!" Cygnus suddenly static-grunts in discomfort and snaps one hand to their screen and another on top of their big angular head. They hold it there for a couple of seconds, then relax and unscrunch. "Oh. It's my teleport-circuit. It's getting uncomfortable - I was on my way to somewhere else, but decided it would be too painful to do it as one jump, so I'm breaking it up into small hops. Antlia-Four was only slightly out of the way, so I'm using your quarters as a pit-stop. Can I rest here for a bit?"

"Of course! Did you want me to take a look at it?" you ask. "If you're willing to let me open your head, I can check whether there's anything obviously wrong with your circuit."

Before Cygnus can answer, they fling their hands to their head again, saying something backwards that from their tone is probably sweary. "My circuit feels over-full…" Cygnus manages to say in forward speech. "It shouldn't do. I think I need a drain… Have you got- oh, ow- have you got a fog-vessel?"

"I haven't," you say. "…Except myself. Polycephaly was able to temporarily store some fog in my head. Can you do that?"

Cygnus wordlessly holds their arms out as if for a cuddle, making a come-here gesture with their hands. You move forward to let Cygnus position you where they want you, which turns out to be with your face right up against their screen. Cygnus's screen turns that familiar void-black you see when TVs transfer fog, and your vision swims as the fog flies out of Cygnus's screen and into your flesh. The fog, trying to find a teleport-circuit to store itself in and finding none, coils around your brain stem. The fog fills your nostrils and mouth - palpably there but not inhibiting your breathing… it's a damn curious sensation. Your vision takes on a black vignette, with a sprinkle of the little black 'spiders' you see at the edges of your vision when sufficiently sleep-deprived.

Cygnus emits a static sigh of relief. "Thank you," says Cygnus. "That's taken a lot of pressure off."

"What do you want to do next?" you ask. "Did you want to port back home and get a vessel to store this in?" You're happy to help Cygnus, but it's not practical for you to keep this fog in you - you need it removed. "Or I can put you on my workbench and take a look at your circuit. If it feels too full, maybe you have a blockage."

"Would you?" asks Cygnus. "I'd appreciate it."

"You know I'll have to discharge your CRT for my safety?" you remind Cygnus.

"There's no-one I'd trust more to do that," Cygnus says with a smiling emoticon. Oh, how you melt.

You both make your way to your workshop, Cygnus sitting on your workbench while you pick up tools from the shelves. You close the workshop door too - Seabrooks is outside for now, but if she returns you don't need her wandering in and getting in the way.

"Head on or head off for this?" you ask Cygnus. They're one of the few TVs besides the Imperator with detachable heads. It might be a bit easier for you to work on Cygnus's head by itself, but they probably won't be comfortable with having their head detached for that long.

"I'll keep it on," says Cygnus. "Having my casing taken off will be a little scary - I'd prefer not to be bisected on top of that."

"Alright. Let me find something so you don't have to rest your face-plate directly on my workbench," you say as you rummage in a bin of offcuts of various materials. "Ah, rubber tile and a cork one. You'll do." You hand them to Cygnus. "Leave your speakers uncovered if you can, so I can hear you."

Cygnus lies face-down on your workbench - both the easiest position for you to access their casing, and the safest position for their CRT. They slide the two mats (rubber on top, cork one underneath) into place so that they can rest their 'face' on them.

You lay a hand on Cygnus's back and slide it up towards their head, so Cygnus can feel where you are. "I'm going to take the back of your head off," you say. "Once I do that, I'll need you to keep as still as you can and make no sudden movements. Last chance to change your mind."

"Continue," says Cygnus, their speakers muffled as they talk into your workbench.

You prepare to uncover the hidden screws that keep Cygnus's head together… and you have to take a moment to calm yourself first. This is almost equivalent to taking your cranium bones off and uncovering your brain. Cygnus has ultimate trust in you, and you quietly revel in that bond with your best friend. You stroke the seam on Cygnus's head-casing, feeling for the one point along the seam that can be spudged open. You push the spudging tool into the seam, keeping your other hand on Cygnus's casing for reassurance. (For them? Or for you?) "One down," you say. "I'm going to do the one on the other side now… you're doing a very good job of keeping still. I have access to your screws now. Are you ready for me to continue?"

"Yes," says Cygnus. "I feel fine… apart from my teleport-circuit being uncomfortable."

You begin undoing the screws. The loosen the opposite way from normal - a countermeasure against would-be reverse engineering by the skibidis, you suppose. (Or are TVs just that contrarian?) Naturally, they also require a type of screwdriver you'd never seen before you joined the Alliance.

"All screws undone," you say.

"I can feel it," says Cygnus.

"I'm going to lift your casing off now, if you'll let me. I can stop and re-screw the threads if this is getting too intense."

"Go right ahead with removal," says Cygnus. "I know you'll be careful with me."

You remove the back of Cygnus's head, and behold its pristine innards. Instead of the green circuit-boards and grey cabling inside most human-made machines, Cygnus's cables and boards are elegant black and purple. The glass coils of their teleport-circuit curl up under the funnel of their CRT.

"Well, I think I can already see a partial blockage in your teleport-circuit," you say. "But I need to discharge you before I can go any further. You'll be blind while your tube's off. Do you want to continue?"

"It's not as though I can see anything right now anyway," points out Cygnus. "Please go ahead."

You disconnect the CRT from Cygnus's flyback transformer, cutting Cygnus's vision. "On two," you say. "One-" you slide the discharge tool under the anode cap. "Two." CRACK. "How did that feel?" you ask.

"I couldn't feel it with the power cut," says Cygnus. "But that was a truly awful sound." Well, you suppose you'd hate to experience such a noise emanating from inside your skull.

With Cygnus's capacitors safely un-powered, you bring your face in close to examine the glassy coiling loops of their teleport-circuit. Most of the circuit is healthily full of black fog, swirling as if gently boiling. The rest is almost empty, and separating the full and near-empty lengths is a plug of what looks a little like solidified candlewax, but slightly transparent. It's very dark purple, almost black, and a little shiny as though oozing and on the cusp of melting, like an ice lolly that's been out too long. It's almost blocking the glass tubing completely, choking it to a narrow point where only wisps of fog can flow through. You describe its appearance to Cygnus: "I think I was right - you've got a section of tubing with very little fog flowing through. It's being slowed down by some sort-of waxy, sort-of jelly stuff. Almost like a frozen lump of bramble jam."

"Just my luck…" says Cygnus. "That will melt and clear with gentle application of heat. I don't suppose you have a de-congealer loop in this workshop?"

"I've got a third-party version," you say. You climb onto the workbench and straddle Cygnus's back… and lean in to exhale your hot mammal breath over Cygnus's teleport-circuit.

"Oh^hh…" Cygnus utters - you're surprised by how pleasurable they appeared to find that. "That felt so good… Oh. But you'll need a little more heat than that to melt it…"

"I've got you covered," you speak softly into the glass coils, teasing Cygnus with more of your breath. You put your lips on the affected segment of glass piping, then part them - slowly, making Cygnus emit anticipatory clicking sounds from their speakers - until you can poke out your tongue and press it gently down until it conforms to the curves of the glass.

Cygnus is emitting fluttering static sounds that you've come to recognise as excited arousal, and trying to grip the workbench under their hands. "Oh, Phaeton…" whines Cygnus. "Phaeton, do that some more, oh please, more…"

You place your hands on the workbench on either side of Cygnus's head, and begin letting your tongue stroke those smooth glass coils, making Cygnus feel both the barely-palpable roughness of your tongue's top surface contrasted with the slippery slickness of the underside. Cygnus whines as you gently suck at the site of the blockage, pressing and lapping your warm tongue against the glass. You feel the glass under your tongue thrum ever-so slightly as the semi-solid matter inside becomes less solid and starts sweating black droplets, the swirling fog carrying them along.

"That… feels so good…" whispers Cygnus. "Oh, it's such a relief." Cygnus squeaks and bucks slightly under you as you continue painting their teleport-circuit with your warmth.

As you continue to apply your heat and make the strange matter melt and flow down the glass piping, the inky droplets gather in a tiny glass condenser-bulb at one end of Cygnus's teleport-circuit.

"Can you empty that before the matter congeals in there?" says Cygnus. "It unscrews. You can pour the juice into standard waste; it's not harmful."

You unscrew the little bulb, the warmth from your hand making the juice inside dance slightly. You're about to empty it into the bucket by your workbench, when you get an idea… You pour out a droplet onto your tongue. It tastes like the static that kisses your tongue when you touch it to Cygnus's screen. You drink the contents of the vial, taking Cygnus's essence into you - it dances down your throat as if it's happy to be in you. You re-attach the empty bulb into place on Cygnus's teleport-circuit, and Cygnus emits a static sigh of contentment.

You ought to re-assemble Cygnus so they can take back the fog they put in you, drawing it back in through their screen… But Cygnus is clearly loving the sensations of you stroking and kissing their teleport-circuit, and you yourself are rather enjoying the effect you're having on them…

You unscrew the condenser bulb again - can you somehow guide the fog out of you and back into the teleport-circuit? You remember the trick of blowing into a bottle to dislodge the air inside and force out a broken cork from the neck. If you carefully breathe into Cygnus's teleport-circuit, can you force out a little wisp of fog and persuade it to latch onto the fog that's already in your head?

"Cygnus…" you whisper into the opening left by the condenser bulb.

Cygnus shudders exquisitely under you and gives a static moan. It seems feeling your warm breath inside their teleport-circuit is driving them wild… Cygnus presses their front into your workbench and grinds their charging port into it, in the TV equivalent of dry-humping.

You place your lips to the opening in the glassy coil and exhale into it. As you hoped, a wisp of teleport-fog peeks out, like the tentacles of a barnacle at high tide. You start a little cycle of drawing in breath through your nostrils and out through your mouth, encouraging the fog coiled inside your head to recognise the rest of itself and latch back on so it can go home. (Meanwhile, Cygnus moans with desire, and is quivering with restraint at not thrashing as much as they dearly want to right now.) The fog inside your head uncoils from your brain stem and pours off your tongue like heavy smoke from an incense burner. Cygnus squeaks as the fog starts rolling back into their circuit.

"Ohh… It's so warm…" exclaims Cygnus. "Oh, Phaeton, that feels wonderful…"

You re-attach the condenser bulb to trap the fog back inside, taking the opportunity to stroke Cygnus's teleport-circuit a little more, teasing it and slowly running your fingers over it, making Cygnus moan needily. You withdraw your hands and use them to rub Cygnus's back in a circle. "Shall I close you back up?" you ask.

"I… I don't know…" Cygnus says. "I want to cuddle you, and I want to blade-fuck myself stupid… but I really want you to keep touching and stroking my circuit…"

You oblige, rubbing the glass tubing of Cygnus's teleport-circuit. The fog inside tries to leap to your fingertips, like the glowing gaseous filaments inside a plasma globe. You gently grip the tube and mix up the pressure under your fingertips - shaving several points off Cygnus's IQ, if their frantic keening is anything to go by. You slide a finger of your other hand into a gap between two loops of glass, and stroke the inside surfaces. (Cygnus grips the edges of the workbench.) You slip more fingers into the gap, teasing the smooth glass at first, and then curling your fingers into a beckoning gesture - tickling the tubes and then moving to ever-so-gently plucking at them with your fingertip.

Cygnus's speakers are clipping with static as they try to moan more frequencies at once than they can really cope with. Cygnus trembles beneath you, desperate to masturbate but unable to do so. You'd love to see what patterns would be displaying on their screen if their CRT wasn't switched off. You begin to lie down and spread out on top of Cygnus's back (prompting a static moan of appreciation), pressing your front down on them. You hold the sides of Cygnus's head-casing while you nuzzle their teleport-circuit and huff your hot breath over it, licking the glassy coils and probing your tongue between them. You grind yourself into Cygnus, doing your best to make their charging port press down into the workbench.

"Phaeton…" begins Cygnus, their voice clicking. "I need to fuck myself… close me up… please…"

"Anything for you, dear one," you whisper into those glassy coils, making Cygnus quiver under you. "Be still for me." Cygnus buzzes quietly in anticipation while you dismount from them and retrieve the back of their head-casing. You re-connect Cygnus's CRT to their flyback, and then line up the casing to screw the threads home. "Almost there…" You fold the tiny hidden panels back into place and stroke them with your thumbs - you'd never know there were screws there.

Almost as soon as Cygnus's casing is restored, they flip onto their back and frantically undo the buttons of their top garments to find their charging port. Cygnus begins blade-fucking themself right there on your workbench, writhing upwards to meet their own touch. Your breathing deepens at the sight. You loosen your belt and lean against the workbench as you begin stroking yourself off - oh, you were wetter than you realised. Cygnus gazes at you with a pattern of static snow you recognise as affection and fondness.

"Would you you…" begins Cygnus, "…let me put all the fog in my circuit in you… all of it, and then let me take it back in? It was so warm… I want to feel it… all through my circuit…"

"Yes…" you breathe. You let your legwear fall to the floor.

Cygnus reaches out to gently guide you into place so they can channel their fog back into your own head. You let Cygnus pull you closer, up until your Cygnus-guided trajectory diverges from the one you have in mind…

"I have a better idea," you say. You climb onto the workbench, and push Cygnus back down into a supine position. Cygnus is more than strong enough to overpower you, which makes it all the more delicious that they delightedly comply. You sit on Cygnus's exposed metal chest, and pull their tie to wordlessly tell them to lift their head a little. Cygnus isn't sure what you're trying to do, but they're very excited to find out - you see their wrist-blades flicker in their sockets. "Pour your fog in me," you instruct Cygnus.

Cygnus snaps their hands to your hips and hauls you by the ass right up against their screen, your soft and pearled-up skin painting the glass with your anticipation. With a static sigh Cygnus releases a torrent of their fog right into your junk, making you feel as though a night-black flower of arousal is blooming inside you and growing vines that snake into all your limbs. The fog pours into your body, rolling like a velvety flood and painting every fibre, every sinew inside you. It fills you and then fades to nothing, before being chased by more fog coming in, just like the lapping waves on a beach vanishing into the sand and then being followed by more. Cygnus grips you and ripples their fingers, pressing their palms into you and holding you steady.

"Look at you, completely drained," you tease Cygnus as their screen re-brightens from void-black to snowy-white. "You can't go anywhere right now…" (Cygnus trembles with bliss.) "Go on," you continue, "Take back what's yours. I kept it warm for you…"

Cygnus emits rising keens of static as they take back their fog and it cascades out of you, making your body feel stroked by many soft invisible hands, all tracing paths over your skin to Cygnus's screen. Cygnus holds you steady as you start stroking yourself off again, your breathing getting heavier and louder. "You're so warm," Cygnus whispers. "I'm so full of your warmth… Oh, I'm sure I've just cum…"

Just as Cygnus reclaims and soaks up the last of their fog, you climax and paint Cygnus's screen with your inky-black cum.

"Rub it in…" says Cygnus. "Please…"

You stroke dear Cygnus's screen, your fingers making trails of iridescent black juice, both pearly with your own productions and deep black from Cygnus's. Both of you made something beautiful together.