A Megaman Classic/Megaman X crossover by Neo Qwerty
People would never let Blues live it down, if they knew what he was doing while he was cloistered up in the old Cossack fortress. Blues was more than happy to let them think whatever they liked to. X could think it was a place where Blues stuffed his odds and ends (and he wasn't exactly wrong), Forte could think it had intentional symbolism up the wazoo (Blues only left it dusty and half-assedly repaired because he just didn't have the time to fix it), and everyone else could think he was doing who knows what who knows where.
No one would think that, between maintenance work on everything that still worked in the ruins of the Cossack home and personal matters, Blues would do anything that could potentially ruin his reputation as a mysterious aloof robot (more than it already was)… But that was so.
Blues was perched on the hard shell covering the small cart, music blaring in his ears as his body swayed from side to side. The poor car was squeaking whenever there was too much weight on its front wheels, the suspension protesting the unwarranted torture of being used like a stage. Blues had a screwdriver pointed toward his mouth, handle first, and he was even singing along in a higher-pitched voice than usual. He quickly raised both hands to his side, making air quotes as he swung his hips side to side.
"You make me wanna "lala", in the kitchen on the floor!"
Yes, if someone saw him act that way, he'd be mocked. Mercilessly. And ten times so if somehow Forte caught wind of it. …Although right now, Blues wasn't really thinking of the consequences. Or Forte. Or much of anything besides how the sound thumping through his body was feeling maybe a bit ticklish. He spun around on his heels a full 360 degress, going through his improvised choreography, then made a quick hop to spread his feet some. His right foot tapped on the hard floor, and he brought up his hand in front of himself, turning it to a buster for a few seconds.
"You can throw me like a boomrang… I'll come back and beat you up. Ooohh, I have waited here for you…"
The arm cannon was turned back into a hand, and he quickly jumped back up on the small racing car's hood with a second protesting squeal of old springs. He continued dancing like that for some time, a smile rising on his face despite himself and a flush on his face as he continued holding back the urge to breathe just so he wouldn't mess up the music. It felt amazing to just let the music carry him wherever it went, and he wondered if that meant he was the first robot to do an interpretative dance for just a second. The music was nearing its end, and Blues lept forward, landing on his knees and sliding on the ground a bit, arching forward and dropping the screwdriver somewhere on the ground.
"You make me wanna…"
He couldn't seem to keep a grip on his vocal controls, his voice dropping back into its usual register, and perhaps a little hoarse. He tilted his head back, reaching behind to snag one of the ends of his scarf, and tugged the soft and bright strip of fabric forward and in front of himself until it was taut. He moved his whole body into a thrust, moving like a wave from his hips to his head, and yanked on his scarf so it slid around his neck, loosening. The tickling sensation was continuing incalzando, moving through him like a rather enjoyable energy refill, and Blues closed his eyes behind the visor.
"You make me wanna… Scream…—!"
Blues arched forward again, mouth still open, as the odd feeling (where else had he felt that again?) finally seemed to stop rising and turned into a plateau, making his hands twitch and his throat suddently tighten. Even with his eyes closed, he saw the darkness fragment into a little flurry of pixels, and before he could run a scan to see what was wrong, he stopped being able to think coherently. He simply stayed on the floor, kneeling and shaky, slapping his free hand on the floor behind him while the other clutched his half-untied scarf like a lifeline. When he finally recovered all his functions, he was panting loudly, his cooling system working overtime to lower his inner temperature, and the music was fading away in his ears.
He picked himself up just enough to crawl backward and lean his back against the little car's shield-body, and then let his body go limp again, basking in… Whatever the hell it was that just happened. Oh, yes, it was better that no one knew what he was up to in his personal little hideout…