Neme's idea of robosex: Emitting the right signals (electrical and non), waves and chemicals; touching the right circuits and body parts; and also using the right emitters (and maybe after switching into the right 'mode'), Reploids can charge up one another with energy. The more they touch/interact, the higher the charge builds up, the most pleasurable the touch/interaction itself becomes. When the charge reaches the max, it's released suddenly – and very pleasurably. Actually, it's the same as human sex: mood + pleasurable contact = sexual energy building up. Sexual energy reaching its limit = release. XD;;

Title: Metanoia (In Carl Jung's psychology, metanoia indicates a spontaneous attempt of the psyche to heal itself of unbearable conflict by melting down and then being reborn in a more adaptive form.) – or "The Beauty and the Beast".
Author: Nemesi.
Fandom: Rockman Zero 3 (MMZ3)
Genre: Er…*scratches head* I'd say… uhm… robo-erotica? O.O;; This could be romance, too: they are obviously smitten.
Word Count:1421.
Characters/Pairing: ?? /Copy X (revealed midway through).
Rating: R for robosex.
Disclaimer: Rockman Zero, its characters, places and themes belong to Capcom, Shogakukan, Keiji Inafune, ShoPro, TV Tokio, etc.. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Yaoi (though, with machines, is it really yaoi?). Robosex… or at least the preliminaries of it.
A/N: How do you write robosex using antiquate wording and dream-like atmospheres? I've no idea "how", but I did it. The dreamy prose makes a nice contrast, I think, with the description of circuits and machines and… well, and robot equivalent for intimate contact. ^^;
I UTTERLY fault this on Copy X and his allure, though. Is it just me, or he looks like a… uhm… *clears throat* sex doll? *ducks random objects hurtled her way* I mean, look at that body! He's WAY too sexy! And with those rabbit red eyed eyes of his… *rawrs* He makes quite the sex kitten.
Summary: As Copy X lies on the workbench in Weil's laboratory, not yet repaired, and not yet functioning, someone comes to marvel at his beauty, to pay homage to it with eyes and hands

* * * * *

Across the workbench the copy lay in repose, not yet alive, not quite dead, but rather asleep.

He looked alluring, decadent and tempting, and so sensuous, in his vulnerable state. A sleeping beauty of titanium circuitries and organic steel, and no human art could have made any more beautiful, any more perfect.

Neon light poured out the single fluorescent globe above, enhancing and draping about his beautiful form in ever moving folds, gauze-like and silvery blue. His head was laying only partially in a poll of subdued light, and the stone on his brow was like a cup brimming with ruby wine. In the expression of his countenance, languor mingled with a kind of hunger, a stain, barely-seen, of something like need, or passion, wistful in its intensity, and painful to look upon.

Along his neck, nestled at the delicate curve where throat met shoulder, a circuit board lay exposed, like a gold-powdered patch of velvet, and emitting a soft purr, like the drone of honeybees, suave and almost musical.

His left arm lay folded over his bosom, and in the slack curve of it laid the quintessence of grace. The right dangled, devoid of either life or will, from the edge of the workbench. The delicate wires inside the wrist were bare, whisper-thin cables shivering with electricity. The hand was small and pale, as iridescent and empty as a shell, and gleamed in the polished blackness of floor below.

He laid enchased in silence, all light and blue and ivory, like a sleeping deity or the chosen offering to it; but then, a sudden disturbance came. A massive shadow streamed forth into the sanctum, and the stagnant atmosphere brimmed with the harsh clangour of his armoured steps.

The form of Copy X seemed to stir among the vapour-like draperies of light that hung around him. He seemed to sigh, to beckon, like sirens beckon to mariners from the secret of silent waters, pink lips parted and inviting, white teeth flashing, like miniature shells. The closed eyelids were threadbare and silk-like, so thin one could but barely make out the red irises underneath, flashing like jewels in their velvet case.

The intruder glided close, and closer still. Light fell upon him in shifting masses, revealing of him as much as it concealed, sculpting the slender symmetry of his figure out of the shadows, glancing off the narrow slits of his eyes, whose shade went from red to orange and back, like cold flames.

He moved forward until he could loom over Copy X, the sheer beauty of him, and then, for a moment, all was still, and all was silent. Stiff-frozen the intruder stood, his open eyes the only indication of life.

Among the stillness, among the silence, Copy X was calling to him, a sweet and subtle call. Even before they met, even before Copy X had been reassembled, and still laid in metallic debris and frizzling wires where Zero had left him, this Reploid had felt the call of Copy, like a lesser metal feels the call of a magnet. Presently, Copy X was commanding not only his vision, but the whole of his senses and feelings, the presence of him spreading through his processors like a sort of virus.

To sensors such as his own, relics of an age long past, and calibrated wholly on the original X, Copy X appeared both fey and fiendish. As decayed within as he was beautiful without, he was a mirror that reflected the glory of X in distorted an horrible ways; a doll handcrafted in his glorious likeliness, but housing a weltering, withering soul.

So wicked.

So lovely.

Sheer perfection incarnate, the embodiment of both grace and sin, utterly irresistible.

Desire reared with unwonted energy within the intruder's breast, it coiled and sprung and tore at him, a raw, unappeasable need. And now again the statuesque body was moving, dragging his fingers down the artificial perfection of Copy X's body.

He traced the conduit lines hidden below the fair skin, fingers gliding, spider-like, across his downy cheek, down the swell of his bosom, to the delicate curve of his hip, eyes glazing over into blue glass-fire as his sensory network caught a signal from Copy X – the barest hint of it, like a whisper or a breeze.

More. Give me more. More…

White fire pulsed through him, a thrumming ache, pooling within his core. Pushing his hand against the circuitries hidden at the smooth joint of Copy X's legs, he folded over the sleeping beauty, crouching like a beast or a vampire, and watched the little form below him arch ever so slightly, watched colour break across the fair cheeks, powdering the elegant nose; watched the long eyelashes flutter and tremble, like trapped butterflies, as coolant dewed the delicate forehead.

A slight shudder quivered about Copy X's parted lips; the marble-like limbs tensed and relaxed with each teasing brush of pleasure that was inflicted upon him.


Copy X gasped, he was set a-quiver, his systems humming, calling, craving, sending pulsing signals all the while. And there was a madness about this all, and there was beauty, and there was pleasure, so much of it, and perfection, like that of dreams.


Sparks were dancing about their skin now. The whiff of ozone of an impending thunderstorm clung about them, salty like a sea breeze, made the air thick, made it crackle and shiver with statics.

Copy X wasn't operative yet, if not for the pulsing of his core. Yet, he was responding beautifully to the friction and pressure bestowed upon him, he seemed to surrendered and at the same time to demand more of it, and more still, pearlescent skin suffused with the hues of life and passion, moist with coolant liquid, gleaming with a thin coating of it, his limbs pliant and warm and welcoming, and the wordless call was still streaming from him, an endless ghost-echo, with no beginning and no end, eternal, a siren-call shimmering between them, connecting them, its hues as rich and various as those of quicksilver, a symphony, hauntingly sweet, a cry, random impulses flowing through the ethers and making ancient alchemy between them, making connections flare up and die away like exploding stars, data spilling, meeting, combining, as the charge inside them built up higher and higher, heat rising, steaming up from their skin, this electric bliss, the—


The massive Reploid stilled, but made no move to leave his perch atop Copy X. He turned listlessly towards his maker, body charged to the limit and poised at the brink of release, but looking totally unfazed.

"Leave that thing," commanded Doctor Weil. "You ought to know he cannot wake yet. He misses some vital components and can't…"

Long and low, a growl like molten lead rose, rolling, from the back of Omega's throat, one that was part warning, and part dismissal. Turning his back on the aged scientist, Omega twisted and bent, sinking his face in the white curve of Copy X's throat. His mouth made languorous contact with the exposed circuitry nestled there, sending jolts of electricity through both their cores.

Copy X's operative system opened up to Omega's probing, drew him in, the petal-like extension of Copy X's will enclosing Omega and simultaneously rooting themselves deep within his interface, restoring the shimmering connection between them. The siren call came back then, a croon and a song, assuaging Omega's beastly mind, turning it into a docile slave.


Their systems aligned, shifted, completed one another; the connection opened. Energy flared between them, through them, rebounding and perfect.

Copy X's entire body thrilled thorough the core, arched taut, quivered, pressed against Omega's chest. And it was Snow White raising from the coffin, this vision, the Beauty offering herself up to the Beast. It was, also, a dead thing raising from the depths of its own demise, a hungry ghoul wrapping blood-caked arms about its willing sacrifice and drawing life from it.

Copy X's eyes flashed red as he started up. He clung to Omega's massive neck, nestled into his chest like a demonic swan. And smiled, the smile of a naughty child, and the smile of a man-eating fay, so sweet and so horrible, malicious but kind.

Doctor Weil reeled away from the vision of them, as amazed as he was aghast, and watched Copy X draw the glossy half moons of his nails up Omega's chest and about his neck, pulling him down, towards the charge awaiting behind his parted lips.



Uhm, I AM aware that in the game, Omega looks like he's four times taller than Zero (and thus, of all the other characters). However, in some parts of the artbook, he looks "not even" twice as tall as Zero, and those proportions would made him… compatible… with Copy X to do all of the above. We all know who and what is inside Omega's outer, massive armour, after all. And THAT body would be most compatible with Copy X's own, wouldn't it? *muses* It was either go with the artbook (apparent) height, or have Omega dispose of his outer armour, really. And while this second option was nice, I'm not sure Omega CAN dispose of that armour at will. Besides, I've got that option free for a sequel in which Omega DOES show Copy X his amazing body. I mean, if anyone's interested… XD;;

I shall provide visual for this someday soon. Copy X is done, already, and it's the sweetest most sensuous thing I've ever drawn, but Omega is being hell to draw. -_-;;;