About John (Robots, Romance, Patron Request)
Uhhh… lady programmer tests a new array of touch sensors and what starts as gentle touches devolves into a want for more intense stimuli, that sounds plausible to my last brain cell
just like… hard robot dick attached to soft robot boy
do I want to dom a computer? Definitely
this is the stress test for the new platform that the programmer put her boyfriend into because robot bodies are better than flesh bodies
_____________
There was a point he scoffed at the idea of a button.
John, he’s so good to me. I don’t know if I’d categorize it as love. I never liked that term. I mean, I certainly know what it feels like, what it looks like. I think we all have a base concept of it. But it’s only that, right? This nebulous collage of things that we hold up and point to. No, I don’t know if I’d call it love.
But John was, and is, good to me.
So you can imagine his surprise when I suggested it. A button. I originally wanted a toggle switch, but he pointed that it would protrude from his clothes. I’ve always laughed that with men, their vanity only flares at practicalities. But it wasn’t a dismissal. So I suggested a dial, and we compromised with a button. Shiny, black and flush at the base of his spine. If I wrapped my arms around him, my finger tips landed right atop it.
I suppose, to his credit, he was right. You couldn’t see it at all if his shirt was on. We could be out, and all I had to do was place my hand on him. No different than I had thousands of times in front of strangers. Friends. Family. I’d trail the tips of my finger along his back until I’d find it. Then press it so deftly none knew.
One press was enough. But more? Hah. It’s why I only did it when we were drinking or doing stims. We could blame it on those. How they interacted with his “constitution”. If you could call the endless lines of coolant, wet chips and plastine that composed him that. It was a body, sure. Close enough at any rate. But it was his, and he mine.
Planning it-the button, I mean-happened like a dance. Beautiful in it’s spontaneity, but with guided, practiced ease.
John was never much of a showman. Not an overt one-he, like Oz and others-prefered to work sight unseen. Gestures that seemed to appear from nowhere, anonymously. When I’d seen the flowers on my workbench? That’s when I remembered the date. I turned to call him only to hear his heavy footfalls coming down the stairs. As he came into view, I watched as the basement lights illuminated his face. The angles of his jaw perfectly framed a smile.
I hadn’t programmed that. Not a single twitch of it. It was wholly, uniquely his own and I-
Well.
How could I not want to treat him after that?
He descended the steps, I rose from the chair. Our hips met, and the warmth of his lips against mine made every muscle defy gravity. In his arms like this, my feet dangling from the floor? He could have asked for anything. True, real free will. Stronger processing. I would have gave it to him without a doubt. Instead though-
“Do you like them?” he said, his bass voice soft as he clutched me.
“You know I do. They’re my favorite,” I said back. I lithed my hands over his chest, and flicked away the buttons.
“True, but knowing and hearing are two different things aren’t they?” he replied. He gave a slight smile as my feet met the ground again. His lips met my brow, and the pale white button up hit the floor. I pressed my face against his chest, my hand coming to rest just off center. Right where his plastine heart pumped coolant away just a step faster.
“Yes John, I like them. And you. Thank you so much. You know, I almost forgot the date,” I said, my eyes meeting his. He raised an eyebrow, and shrugged.
“Almost, but didn’t. How should we celebrate?”
“It’s your birthday, you tell me,” I said, the words falling as I kissed his neck.
John, he’s good to me. Really. But not because I made him that way. It’s because, like that smile, there’s things I can’t account for. Responses I didn’t weave into being. Like the way he breathed faster when I kissed him. His smell. The way he tilted my head back, and watched me for a moment before he answered.
Flowers.
Hah.
I don’t know if he loves me, but he’s got the idea.
____
The smell of solder is pungent as I place the last capacitor in.
With his back panel removed, he could have been any other service unit. There could have been a police unit logo stamped on his wet boards, something for a grocery store. Instead there was my initials and his. Lines of hand-pressed circuitry. Every single coolant tube, wire and capacitor had been placed by me at his suggestion. The button had found a nice, sizable place to fit. Almost like it was planned, but we never planned that far ahead.
We never had, actually. Even before the wreck. Before the tubes and wires outside his body had been the only thing keeping him alive. Our lives together had been defined by his suggestions and my hands.
We had never wanted for more.
I slid the panel down, and waited for it to click into place. Then I leaned forward, and rested my head right between his shoulder blades. I felt his artificial muscles flex as he shifted his hips left and right. I tilted my head up, the warm light of the basement caressing my face.
“Feel too tight? Or just right? I eyeballed the cut in your panel,” I said.
“Nah, feels fine. You rough-cut it? I can’t tell,”
“Why thank you. So. Have you ran the daemon yet or-” I started, only for him to laugh.
“Yeah, it’s loaded already. Wanna do this thing?” John said. I laughed, and rounded the table. He straightened his back, his brow raised as I stood before him. I smacked my hands atop his thighs, tilting my head as I spoke.
“Yep. But, sanity check first-take your pants off. I’m not entirely sure your dick won’t explode,” I said.
John rolled his eyes, and I took a step back as he slid forward. As he gripped his belt buckle, he turned towards me and said “You know, you can just ask to see my cock,”
“I mean, true. But I like the show you know?” I said. John laughed, his jeans rolling over his hips and bulge.
“Oh? Want me to shake it like those v-strippers then, or-”
“You said you wouldn’t secure shell into my search history anymore,”
He hooked a thumb into his waistband, and gave a slight shrug. The grin on his face, it’s so smug. Absolutely shit eating.
I hadn’t programmed that either.
“I mean yeah, but hearing and doing are two separate things too,” he said. He gave a little laugh until I stamped my foot.
“Show me your fucking dick John,” I said.
He snorted, and slid his boxers down. “Sheesh, okay. Didn’t know you were that flustered already. See? Here we are,” he said. He twisted his hips lightly, his cock smacking against his thighs. His hands rested on his hips-and I finally pulled my eyes away. The warmth in my cheeks was back, just as it had been countless times before.
“Well?” He said.
I answered by lifting my hands and circling his waist.
I answered with a click, one that sent a shudder through his spine. A twitch through his cock that sent it from flaccid to red and throbbing with a single smack against his stomach.
“How we feeling cowboy?”
“G-good,” he said, his nostrils flaring as he looked down. “Holy shit,”
“Mmmhmm. But you’re okay, right? Like, feeling-”
“Oh I’d say that’s obvious,” he said with a laugh.
I’d never been one to over-clock. I’d seen so many get fried that way. But the click of that button, the placement? Right where I’d touched him so many times…
I’d always swore I’d never gas him up.
Knowing, saying, doing.
They’re all different things.
And it’s so rare they overlap.
I clicked the button three more times in quick succession and took a step back. At first, John just stood there. That grin on his face, so slight against the bloom of his cheeks. Then his hands shot back, knuckles turning pale as he gripped the table. His legs widened as his jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. His hips shot forward, turgid cock smacking manically against his stomach. He grunted, and slammed his palm against the table. He breathed heavy through his nose as his face raised to meet mine.
Then it was my turn to smile.
“John? Are we-”
“Get your fucking clothes off,” he replied.
So I did, naturally.
John.
So sweet. So kind. So good.
This beautiful man that I had loved for so long.
With his grip tight on my ankles, my cunt stretching to accomodate his raging cock. His balls clapping against my rim as he fucked me right there on the basement floor.
I don’t know if it was love John had for me.
But.
I’d use that phrase to describe just how much I enjoyed it.
___