It's a frustrating thing, to be wary of something without actually being certain of it.

Metal is usually certain- or, certain to a specific degree- about everything. Algorithms and percentages make up a good portion of his actions. There is "thought" behind every single process Metal carries out (organics call it thought, Metal calls it science).

However, there is something that Metal can't quite describe when it comes to acts like this; there isn't an exact logarithm to running a hand through Sonic's flattened quills as he flops himself over Metal's lap- a position that Metal had inquired about as soon as Sonic decided to cozy up atop his very metal, very cold thighs.

"S'comfy enough," Sonic had grunted in reply, immediately making himself comfortable (Metal knows this because, as previous observations can also confirm, Sonic's quills flatten when his heartrate slows near-enough to convince Metal he's sleeping).

That left Metal to deal with his hands himself. Metal has sensors in his hands, faux-nerves, but they aren't nearly as delicate as an organic. Enough for him to know that he is, indeed, putting pressure on whatever finds its way into his fist, but even that isn't quite exact. There's mostly the concept of grip and no grip, with extremely little variation.

Even moreso when it comes to dealing with something as delicate as an organic- especially Sonic.

Sonic is not an Emerald, nor is he any piece of machinery, therefore he is rather "baffling" (adjective, impossible to understand-) for Metal.

Metal's hands twitch in his uncertainty, watching Sonic quietly. He's lying down on his belly, flattened quills exposed towards Metal, which aren't very impressive when they're laying flat against his small (lithe, better adjective choice) form. Metal settles one hand down, completely out of the way, but his right hand, he cautiously decides (after a solid 1.87 seconds of calculating) to lay flat against Sonic's upper back.

He doesn't feel it as well as he can see it, the way Sonic's quills flatten down even more with the touch, which makes Metal pull his hand back warily.

"Hey," Sonic mumbles, turning his head to barely throw a look up towards Metal. "You can touch there, s'fine. Just be careful, yeah?"

Metal nods, a motion that is rather jerky, and it's not because of poor lubrication. He makes a quiet beep of affirmation, which he hears Sonic chuckle quietly at ("You're cute," he sighs as he settles back down, which Metal isn't too sure how to feel about, but the comment makes him feel significantly warmer- probably due to trying to process the comment). His hand comes to settle back where it was against Sonic's back, but that's all he allows himself to do. Wait for further instruction.

"Further instruction" comes barely a few moments later, when Sonic turns his head again to peek at Metal, brow furrowed (concern, verb, to make anxious-).

"I'm not gonna poke ya," Sonic tells him, and it takes Metal 1.62 seconds to process Sonic's tone, an amusing mix between dejection and reassurance. He isn't sure how Sonic can manage these things at the same time- organics are complicated, and Sonic has the nerve to say the opposite at times!- but Metal looks down to Sonic as he provides an explanation.

"I am not concerned with my well-being in relation to your quills, if that is your query."

Sonic juts out his lower lip (pout, verb-). "Then what's up?"

Metal hesitates, only for .21 of a second. "I am not sure what you would like me to do."

That earns a laugh out of Sonic, which, Metal calculates, is probably at his expense more than anything. However, it matters little, especially when Sonic wiggles a little to move back into place, though he makes an effort to bump his back up into Metal's hand, just a roll of his shoulders as he puts his head back into his folded arms.

"It'd be pretty cool if you rubbed my back or something. But, uh, obviously just in the one direction, please," he explains, and Metal suspects he hears a bit of... embarrassment in Sonic's voice there at the end. Metal is not sure why that could be, but he does not ask.

Instead, Metal carefully applies a bit more pressure with his hand so that it isn't merely resting above Sonic's quills. He can't feel too much as he does this, but he can feel the solid form of Sonic below his palm.

"Is this too forceful?" Metal asks, very thankful for the fact that his voice is not nearly as capable as Sonic's by the way of inflection; if so, Metal supposes he'd sound very... concerned.

Sonic shakes his head. "Perfect. Just like that," he mumbles, and the way Sonic's ears dip back is a physical cue that Metal accepts as permission (based simply on the fact that Sonic's ears only tuck back a very small fraction of the time; Metal's overall data analysis of such a thing provides the answer 12.7%) to proceed.

Sonic's quills only go one way- one way in regard to avoiding puncture damage from razor-sharp spines- so it doesn't take much processing for Metal to understand where to move his hand. The issue lies in how to move his hand, what exactly Sonic prefers. He ponders the concept of asking Sonic, but before he can vocalize anything, even a beep, he realizes Sonic is peering at him by the corner of his eye, a sneaky smile on his maw.

"Just- y'know, like, petting? Like- here," he wiggles around a bit, reaching a hand to one of Metal's shins. Metal can't necessarily feel it, but he pays close attention to the way Sonic smooths his hand down the sleek blue casing that makes up the front of his shin, runs his hand down before picking it back up and doing it again, a few more times.

"Like that, got it?"

Metal nods, beeps for extra affirmation, and Sonic lets out another little laugh as he flops over Metal's thighs again, expectant. At least Metal isn't as hesitant as he was before with setting his hand atop Sonic's back, though that's because the hesitation now lies in /how/ he moves his hand against him. The mechanism that allows his arms to move as freely as his organic counterpart's makes a quiet hum as Metal tries to drag his hand down to the small of Sonic's back. He curiously watches the way Sonic's quills flatten and shift under his touch, but when he waits for Sonic to tell him to lighten up on his touch or something similar, all he receives is a peaceful little sigh as Sonic turns to little more than a blue-furred puddle (not accurate; "puddle of [object]" often used as term of endearment to describe sufficiently-relaxed individual-) atop his legs.

"You are enjoying this?" Metal asks after a pause; he doesn't require continuous praise to proceed in the task, but he wouldn't be averse to Sonic's input.

Sonic makes a noise in his throat that Metal could mistake for a beep, similar to the noises he himself makes (chirp, verb, high-pitched sound-), but answers with a pleased sigh of, "S'great. Love yer hands, Met."

Illogically, there's something very empowering about Sonic's compliments, something that Metal constantly collects through their conversations and makes sure to save. Nicknames, Sonic's silly terms of endearment, phrases for things that Metal does not inherently understand, these have all become bits of primary information he saves. In turn, as he struggles not to send himself into a fit of overheating via sorting through so much information about how incredibly much he admires, adores, enjoys Sonic, Metal spreads his fingers, letting them card through Sonic's quills rather than simply smoothing over them- this makes Sonic shiver, but he seems to relax even more than before when it passes.

"Ooh, I like that, yeah," he hums, and Metal reaches to start another stroke along Sonic's back, though he starts from the top of Sonic's head this time rather than at the backs of his shoulders. Sonic nudges into his touch, ears flat as Metal's hand smooths back, fingers pulsating in a gentle scratching motion on the way down-

The noise Sonic makes takes Metal a moment to decipher (purr, verb, a low, continuous vibratory sound-) and another for Metal to sort as top priority for both his audio and visual feeds to focus on. Primarily how Sonic practically wiggles in his lap, foreign rumble leaving his throat through his teeth, which only visible to Metal because of the grin pulls across his maw.

He is so cute- adjective, attractive in a pretty or endearing way-

"Metal?" Sonic is asking, and only then does Metal process the sound of whirring, his own whirring, which is not nearly as cute as Sonic's purring, because it generally means he's about to overheat from trying to process too much information at one time, but that's because Sonic gives him too much to process at one time simply by being all that he is-

Sonic is moving out of his lap to sit up beside him, his hands reaching for Metal's face; Metal's own hands fly up to cover what they can before Sonic can touch him, not for any specific hardware reason, but because it is a learned habit that stems from embarrassment; not necessarily something Metal is very well-versed in, but he's been learning.

Sonic's hands still manage to land on Metal's cheeks—or, at least, the sides of his head—though they flinch back rather quickly. "Jeez, you're burning up! Are you okay?"

"I am-" Beep.

Internal temperature readings skyrocket, and self-preserving mechanisms send him into standby mode, which is probably a good thing, because the way Sonic frantically pulls Metal's limp body into his arms to carry him to the nearest electrical outlet (the only option his frazzled mind can comprehend in the heat of the moment) would only serve to fluster him even moreso.