Metalworking

Metalworking

Posted: 22/07/2026

In hindsight, it really only had been a matter of time before things would inevitably go from bad to worse. Even without the virus itself already spreading at an exponential rate, there remained two significant setbacks.

One: they had no working cure. The Restoration, specifically the fox, seemed to be working on it, but last anyone heard, little to no progress had been made. And two…

Patient zero was none other than the Blue Blur himself, the (self-proclaimed) fastest thing alive, and one of the most powerful people on the planet. None is faster. Arguably, few are stronger. If he ever were to turn, it would be an absolute disaster.

All hope would be lost.

But they were all fools to expect even him to be able to forever outrun a bio-engineered virus he’d already been infected with, and that had specifically evolved to resist his speed.

Even the Blue Blur is fallible, after all.

—

As Rouge leads survivors to the escape trucks, Shadow keeps the hordes at bay. He doesn’t hold back, isn’t afraid to use his entire strength to crush the metallic creatures. He pushes his air shoes to the limit to fuel each kick, sending them flying into each other. Chaos Spears rain down onto the ambulating masses, divine judgment cast upon the undying.

They fall, yet never stay down. Their limbs regrow immediately as if nothing had so much as touched them. They falter, but never give up.

Manufactured immortality.

Monsters, not unlike himself.

So who better to keep the false immortals in check than a perfected monster, the Ultimate Lifeform himself? He too, always stands back up. He too, can walk off any injury.

But unlike them, he has self-awareness, agency.

They follow their instincts to spread the virus, mindlessly wandering until they find something to infect. He makes the active choice of giving them a ruthless beatdown.

(He’s fought fang and claw for his freedom, he will use it as he pleases.)

As he grabs a pair of Zombots and smashes them against each other, Shadow can’t help but dread in advance the lecture he knows Rouge will give him as soon as this is all over.

He knows many would describe him as reckless, her included. And, in all fairness, they’d be right. He’s more than aware of his…occasionally impulsive tendencies.

And yet, as he feels his superior immune system actively obliterate the virus before it can even properly infect him, Shadow knows his decision to go all out was the right one. With each touch, he feels the distinct tingling of something trying to take hold in him and failing, getting weaker and weaker until it no longer registers under his absurd amount of antibodies.

He could fight off Black Doom’s influence, this is nothing.

The survivors need at least this much firepower to escape anyway. Holding back was never an option, even if his immune system somehow hadn’t been enough. He made a promise, and he will keep it.

No matter what it takes.

When he’d dropped by earlier, barely managing to stand on his own two legs and body halfway through turning completely metal, Sonic had told him to run.

That hedgehog is a fool if he thinks Shadow would ever be so cowardly. He’s decided to stop running away a long time ago.

“Shadow, come in.” Rouge’s crackly voice comes into his communicator, her lack of intonation betraying the severity of the situation. “It’s Sonic.”

Speaking of the blue devil.

“What did he do now?” Shadow growls as he throws another Zombot into a nearby wall. In the distance, he hears an explosion he knows is Omega firing on all cylinders. Must be a big group.

“Please head to the town center immediately.” Rouge wastes no time. “We need you to handle Sonic.”

“Handle? As if that reckless hedgehog listens to anybody.” Shadow replies, but still heads to where he’s needed. Whatever stupid, possibly self-sacrificial idea Sonic needs to be ‘talked’ (read, beaten) out of, it sounds serious enough for even Rouge to be worried.

And when he arrives, Shadow understands exactly why he’s been asked to handle the idiot.

For standing at the center of the street, seemingly unbothered and unharmed by Omega’s bullets, is none other than Sonic the Hedgehog. His once-soft azure fur has become a flat, shiny surface while his eyes, seemingly empty of all thoughts, glow an ominous crimson.

So much for running off the infection.

Shadow hurries to Omega’s side, taking a split second to assess the situation. As expected, Omega’s bullets don’t leave any mark on Sonic, much like any other Zombot. Except, unlike the other creatures, it’s not that they bounce off, or that they hit true but that the missing flesh immediately reforms…

The bullets aren’t even touching him. To most people, he’d look as if he isn’t even moving, but Shadow knows better, as one of the few people who can reach Sonic’s natural speeds.

Quick steps, each perfectly timed to avoid the hail of bullets.

There is no thought behind the movements, only pure, instinctual reactions reflecting the way Sonic always follows his gut without thinking of the consequences. After all, who needs careful strategy when your body can do all the work on its own?

And now, reduced to his basest form where he doesn’t even think of the damage he might do, of the people he might hurt, he is all the more dangerous.

“I see,” Shadow mutters. “That’s what she meant by ‘handle’.”

“STATUS REPORT: THE BLUE HEDGEHOG HAS FULLY TURNED INTO AN EGGMAN ROBOT. HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS AND VOLATILE. HIGHEST LEVEL THREAT.” Omega helpfully observes, never once stopping his hail of bullets. “PROPOSITION: SHOOT HIM FULL OF HOLES.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Shadow counters, narrowing his eyes on his new target and lowering his posture. “Take care of the crowds, I’ll ‘handle’ the hedgehog.”

Omega takes a moment to process, the lights of his eyes flickering for barely half a second.

“THIS MEANS MORE TARGETS FOR ME TO FILL WITH LEAD. AGREED.” Omega replies, temporarily stopping his attacks to head further into the city, where the crowds of Zombots are densest. “DO NOT DIE.”

Shadow just scoffs and launches himself at the eerily quiet hedgehog in front of him.

Cowards run and fall.

The Ultimate Lifeform fights and wins.

His fist finds its home against Sonic’s slack face.

Time to play.

…

The evacuation is a disaster.

They lose Charmy. Tangle stays behind. Omega’s body is destroyed. Survivors are scarce and in various states of distress, and there isn’t enough space for everyone in the shelter.

But worst of all, everyone’s hero has fallen.

Even so, not all hope is lost. Because down there, one hedgehog is still fighting. Keeping the worst threat at bay, allowing the Resistance to keep up with the rescue efforts.

They will need the doctor’s help to find a cure, as well as an absurd amount of power to administer it, but this is none of Shadow’s concern.

He has his own mission, now.

And what a pain of a mission it is.

As Shadow speeds after Sonic after said infected hedgehog hears yet another sound that catches his attention for the fifth time in only a few hours, he silently vows to make him pay when this is all over.

Once he’s taken a nice, long vacation, that is.

As it turns out, keeping a hyperactive, speedy hedgehog in a secluded space is a full-time job that Shadow normally wouldn’t take even if he was paid to do it.

Unfortunately, he’s the only one who is both strong and resilient enough for the job.

Not requiring sleep has its perks.

(Not like he’d let anyone else take the role anyway, even if someone else was able to resist the virus. The primal, possessive part of him refuses to let that happen. It doesn’t matter what others label them as, the fact is that Sonic is his. His rival, his equal, his responsibility. His to challenge, his to break, his to control. His, and no one else’s.)

Once again, Shadow sprints up to Sonic and, in one fell swoop, grabs him by his stupid, shiny quills, and throws him over his shoulder and right onto the concrete ground of the bunker he managed to herd him into after hours of chasing.

Sonic lets out a low growl, flipping himself back up. Eerie red eyes focus back on Shadow and the Zombot launches himself on his target. The tussle that ensues is familiar in its almost childish violence. They jump each other, chase, kick, claw. No holds barred. No mercy.

(There had never needed to hold back with Sonic. No need to worry about accidentally hurting him, because every hit was purposeful, every bruise and broken bone was deliberate and, more importantly, always returned with equal amounts of enthusiasm. There had never been any need for pretenses with them. They could simply be their purest, worst selves without judgment.)

It would almost be fun, if it didn’t feel so…wrong. Sonic’s body is cold, all sharp edges. His eyes have lost any of their mischievous sparkle. His claws have sharpened to the point of piercing through his gloves, and his once small fangs are now weapons of mass destruction.

But the worst part of it all is the quiet.

None of the quips, the bad jokes, the taunts, the ambiguous provocations that sound both like insults and flirts all in one package. None of the chuffing, purrs, and other instinctive noises that are so unique to Sonic when he gets worked up.

Nothing, except mindless growls.

Shadow is taken out of his musings when he feels Sonic bite into his shoulder, hard.

“Fuck!” he swears and , without thinking, flips them around again. They’re a tangle of limbs on the dusty ground, Sonic on his back while Shadow lays his entire weight on him. He’s pulling at his quills to try and force him away, but Sonic refuses to let go, sharp teeth clamped hard on Shadow’s shoulder. Blood runs down his arm, staining his fur with the proof of his alien nature.

Sonic laps it up all the same, gulping down every drop of blood he can reach like a man starved. No amount of pushing or pulling or even kicking can dislodge the metal hedgehog.

Shadow’s not sure where his wires get crossed, then.

Maybe it’s the physical contact. The adrenaline. Maybe he’s accidentally conditioned himself from previous encounters that ended a little differently.

(Or maybe there’s just something deeply wrong with him.)

Later, he’ll blame the virus for it. Despite his immunity, being in such close and frequent contact with such a powerful strain can still have some effect on his behavior, even without fully taking hold.

He’ll keep trying to convince himself he was not in control of his actions when he, stupidly, decided to return the favor and bite as hard as possible into literal metal.

He’s so focused on the oddly satisfying crunch, followed by the taste of something not quite organic, not quite solid either, that he almost doesn’t hear the strangled noise that escapes Sonic’s throat.

Almost.

“Shhhds—owwww” is the mangled sound that escapes Sonic’s mouth, having finally released Shadow’s shoulder.

It’s almost—

It almost sounds like—

Shadow growls and pushes Sonic away. He launches himself backwards and glares at Sonic, who lies still on the ground, odd-colored blood still dripping down his chin. He ignores the way an equally strange liquid is lingering on his own muzzle, as well as the tingling sensation it provides in his throat.

Sonic isn’t moving.

There’s no way he killed him. Zombots are extremely sturdy, and Shadow knows for a fact Sonic can survive much more than a mere bite.

With all of Shadow’s strength.

That pierced skin.

At the jugular.

Slowly, Shadow inches closer.

He ignores the way the chill liquid he ingested seems to propagate through his entire body, spreading a haze of coldness.

He just needs to make sure.

Shadow extends a hand towards Sonic’s neck in order to test for a pulse…

—and wrenches it back so fast his arm cracks in protest, barely avoiding the sharp teeth trying to clamp on it.

“You little shit,” he growls at his very-much-alive…something.

Sonic, for his part, is unrepentant and stands faster than either of them can blink with renewed energy, the wound at his neck already gone. He starts to circle around Shadow, who mirrors his movement to prevent him from getting in biting range again.

Except, when Shadow looks at his face, something is different.

There’s a sort of…twinkle in those red eyes. One Shadow hadn’t seen once since he had to take the role of glorified babysitter for what was essentially now a killing machine.

From there, he notices other details. Too-pointy ears angled at him, alert. A shaking tail, excited. A low rumble, too soft to be the mindless groan of a Zombot.

Sonic.

“How?” Shadow mutters to himself.

Sonic doesn’t answer in words. Instead, he takes advantage of Shadow’s distraction to lunge again, fangs at the ready.

Shadow grabs him by the muzzle to stop him.

Sonic bites into his hand instead, piercing through the thick leather.

“Oh, come on!” Shadow growls as history repeats itself, but no amount of violence can remove Sonic this time, his jaw is clamped hard and his throat is working hard to get as much blood as possible from this inconvenient spot.

Shadow’s pretty sure his hand’s bones have been crushed into powder. Thank Chaos for his quick regenerative abilities.

Sonic seems almost desperate to get Shadow’s blood in himself, and Shadow notices that with each gulp, he seems more and more…alert.

Shadow’s blood on its own isn’t powerful enough to cure such a powerful illness, he knows that for a fact.

(If it was, she would have been free to live peacefully on Earth. No more tests, no more treatments, no more military involvement. Just a young girl who would have eventually become an old woman. Alive and happy.)

But what it can do, is treat symptoms, even if only temporarily.

“Oh.”

Soon after Shadow gets his revelation, however, he realizes he can no longer ignore the effects of what he ingested on his body.

Blood? Liquid metal? Whatever it is, he regrets swallowing it. To touch the virus is one thing, to drink a highly concentrated and mutated version of it is another. As his limbs start shaking from the chill taking over his body and his thoughts become muddled, Shadow wonders if his immune system has finally hit its limits.

He messed up.

Sonic notices the shivering and releases Shadow’s mangled paw. His appearance is unchanged, but there’s a little more awareness in his eyes. Words are still beyond him, but some feelings and vague thoughts manage to resurface when he takes a closer look at the striped hedgehog in front of him.

The dark one tastes warm but looks cold.

Even though they’ve been fighting, it feels right. He feels safe with that hedgehog, somehow.

Vague memories flutter through his mind, fleeting shards of a larger whole. Small mirrors reflecting a dark void lit by stars and fire. Flashes of gold and crimson, radiating power. The feeling of the wind in non-metallic quills, a black-and-red blur in his peripheral vision.

Freedom and exhilaration.

Warmth, just like the one spreading through his body, from his throat to his core.

Shadow.

Ingrained in the virus is one set of instructions that every Zombot has followed to the letter since the start.

[Be fruitful and multiply.]

At their basest form, they achieve that by seeking organic life forms and making physical contact.

But Shadow’s blood has had an effect.

Thinking is still difficult, but Sonic’s more…rebellious side has awoken enough to make him want to get up to some mischief.

He’s still obeying the directive, technically.

Technically.

Sonic lets out a low noise, too soft to be a growl, too rusty to be a purr, and returns to Shadow’s personal space. The contact jolts Shadow out of his cold haze.

On the one hand, the virus doesn’t seem to spread further than what it already has. On the other, the fuzziness that’s taken over his thought processes, combined with the adrenaline high, his existing…relationship with Sonic, and his now-neutered common sense, makes Shadow act foolishly.

He shouldn’t. Sonic’s not in his right mind, even with Shadow’s blood flowing through him.

He leans in anyway.

This too, is something Shadow will blame the virus for later.

The ensuring kiss, if one can even qualify as such the awkward smashing of teeth and tongues that is more bite than kiss, is a mess. It would be more reasonable to make sure neither of them get their teeth on the other, considering the effect their respective fluids have on each other. Safer.

But when have they ever been reasonable or safe, even while fully ‘sober’?

As they essentially eat each other’s faces, less dignified than even animals, their claws find their ways into skin, reopening wounds that had barely closed through enhanced healing. It looks less than rivals-slash-lovers reuniting through unfortunate circumstances, and more like parasitic beasts trying to dig their way to each other’s centers to make their nests.

Their muzzles separate only to rejoin with different body parts. Sonic chomps a little too enthusiastically whenever he finds an artery, but Shadow doesn’t pay it any mind anymore. Forcing the excitable Zombot away from his blood vessels is only a bonus when Shadow grabs him and sends him flying, only to immediately jump on his prone form. Sonic never stays pinned down though, and they flip multiple times while trying to make the other submit.

It’s violent and bloody, not quite unlike their previous fight. The only difference now is their intent.

And the wet mess between their grinding groins, of course.

They can deal with the consequences later. For now, their minds are on something else.

Sonic is strong as a Zombot, but he’s ultimately always been more about speed than raw strength, so when Shadow manages to get him into a headlock, crushing his throat with more force than usual now that self-restrain is out of the equation, he has no choice but to submit.

(For now, anyway.)

Their current position doesn’t allow for much movement, but they can make do.

(They’ve had sex in weirder positions anyway.)

Sonic growls and claws at the strong arm cutting off his airway, yet his bottom half says another story, rubbing insistently against Shadow’s groin to coax the already-peeking tentacle out of its sheath. The wiggly appendage is more than happy to oblige, sneaking between metallic thighs that immediately squeeze around it.

Shadow grunts but doesn’t let up, not yet.

Sonic can handle more than that. Shadow knows it. Sonic himself knows it.

Shadow shifts his hips just so. His dick does the exploring for him, rubbing around and over an engorged clit. Sonic groans weakly, the insistent stimulation on his sensitive T-dick causing him to leak all over Shadow. Much like the rest of his body currently, his slick is cold enough to make Shadow feel like he’ll go into thermal shock anytime soon.

He keeps grinding between Sonic’s thighs, seeking that familiar high with each slide against him and relishing in the pleasure-pain of the contrast in temperature. With each slide, the mess only gets wetter, and Shadow feels closer to that desired edge.

Against Shadow’s stomach, Sonic’s shiny, silver tail slowly starts to flag in its wagging. He releases his hold and Sonic slumps on the ground with a deep gasp, accompanied by a delicious gush of slick.

Normally, Shadow would happily drown himself in it, but he’s aware enough to be weary of Sonic trying to return the favor and being unable to resist the urge to bite off his dick.

Yes, it would grow back, but he would rather avoid it all the same.

He presses down between Sonic’s back quills, keeping him pinned down while he holds his hips with his other hand.

Just in case.

Sonic feels dizzy, yet so, so good, drool dripping from his maw in bliss. He lets out a noise. It’s not quite the noise he wants to make, but he hopes the warm one, Shadow, gets the message.

Get on with it.

His dick gets the message, at the very least. It slithers through cold folds, parting them to reveal a dripping hole, more than ready to welcome it inside. Slowly, it makes its way inside, inch by inch.

Sonic’s inner walls are freezing. Shadow has a full-body shiver, mirrored in the Zombot, possibly for the opposite reason.

When Shadow finally bottoms out, he lets out a deep, shuddery sigh, leaning over Sonic’s back.

“Hah, fuck…”

The temperature, the very much purposeful (and almost mischievously) tight squeeze… It’s almost too much.

His grip on Sonic’s back falters. It’s brief, barely a second long.

But a second is more than enough.

Sonic has always been quite impatient, after all. His form may have changed, but that part of him hasn’t.

He suddenly jolts up, headbutting Shadow with the back of his head.

By the time Shadow recovers from the surprise attack, Sonic has already flipped their positions, Shadow now on his back on the ground while Sonic himself is now straddling him, having managed to turn around without dislodging the affectionate tentacle. The forceful friction against his freezing insides forces an oversensitive whimper out of Shadow.

“Grkkkk,” Sonic says eloquently with a feral smile that is all teeth.

He doesn’t need words to be a smug little shit.

Without warning, Sonic grinds down against Shadow, who groans helplessly. His movements are a little clumsy thanks to his impeded ability to focus outside of instinctual acts, but it seems enough for Shadow, who can barely handle the stimulation as it is.

Sonic mindlessly ruts against Shadow, trying to guide Shadow’s partly-independent dick to all his favorite spots. It takes some doing and some frustrated growls, thanks to their shared inability to focus, but the writhing appendage eventually manages to remember its way home and jabs at the spot just right.

Sonic jolts with a strangled noise.

“Rrrrrrr…errrr!”

Shadow doesn’t need words to understand what he must do.

Through the haze of overstimulation, he grips Sonic’s hips as hard as possible, angles them just right, and bucks up, trying to aim as best as he can right where Sonic wants him.

Shadow would like to rescind his previous internal statement. This might not be the weirdest position they’ve had sex in, but this is indeed the weirdest sex they’ve ever had.

He’s a little too far gone to worry about that anymore though, all of his limited brain power is focused on the messy, feral grind of their hips together.

With each press against Sonic’s nice spot and the simultaneous friction of his engorged clit against Shadow’s pubic fur, he cries out and tightens around Shadow, who in turn can’t help but buck again right into that spot. They’re almost stuck in a loop, egging each other on as their groins meet in a squelch of slick and precum. Again. And again. And again.

Sonic leans over, gripping Shadow’s chest fur hard with too-sharp claws.

(Shadow has half a mind to note that, if he finds any of his meticulously-groomed chest fur missing, he will pluck every single quill from Sonic’s pretty head, one by one.)

With each clumsy thrust, the pressure reaches yet another level. Each slide, each squeeze, each press only makes it grow, to an almost painful degree.

Until, finally, the dam breaks.

Sonic is the first to go, biting down hard on Shadow’s shoulder, right on top of the recently-healed bite. Freezing slick gushes around Shadow’s dick and all over their joined hips. The harsh pain is enough to push Shadow over the edge as he presses as deep into Sonic as possible and releases, the copious amounts of come eventually spilling out of him and adding onto the mess.

Shadow slumps down, breathless. He’s content to stay there and recuperate, eyes closing as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

Until his dulled brain finally catches up to the situation.

His eyes snap open, and he grabs Sonic by the back of the neck to wrench him away from his shoulder. Sonic, surprisingly, doesn’t fight him, but it’s easy to see why.

Because dripping from the chin of the deceptively docile hedgehog’s muzzle is what is very obviously alien blood.

That damn hedgehog.

Radiating smugness, Sonic shifts. One clawed paw grabs Shadow’s tired yet still happy to play dick, pulling it out from its comfortably freezing confines. A puddle of fluids pours down onto Shadow’s stomach with a loud squelch.

He then guides the dripping, rubbery tentacle right to his backdoor with a too-sharp grin and a wild look in his glowing red eyes.

Shadow gulps.

The Resistance better hurry unless they want Shadow to meet his untimely end in the most embarrassing way.

Though, he supposes it wouldn’t be the worst way to go, all things considered.

…

It’s unclear to them how much passes with how lost they are in each other. All they know is that, at some point, a wave of energy passes through them, ripping away what has taken hold of them—the virus.

The Resistance must have found a way to “cure” the virus on a planetary scale.

Both hedgehogs collapse next to each other, breathing heavily, their coats sticky from sweat and other fluids.

It’s quiet for a while, until Shadow hears Sonic let out an exhausted laugh. He opens his eyes to the familiar sight of soft, if messy, blue fur, a peach belly, and those twinkling emerald eyes.

“Wow,” Sonic chuckles. “That was different.”

“…Yeah,” Shadow agrees.

“I’m definitely gonna need a week-long nap after this.” Sonic keeps on rambling, but Shadow can’t bring himself to get annoyed by it after who knows how long of only hearing unintelligible groans. Sonic looks down at the mess between his legs. “And probably a morning-after pill. Or ten. Yikes.”

Shadow just hums. Even with his supposedly-limitless stamina, he’s about ready to collapse.

He doesn’t talk about what just happened. Neither does Sonic.

It’s not really their ‘style’, anyway.

And, when they finally rejoin with the others, hours later, neither of them mention what happened in that bunker.

This is only for them to know.