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Notes:
Time for the next project from your friendly neighborhood author Amanda Meuwissen! I mean Crimson1, obviously. Definitely just a long-time fanfic writer here named Crimson1 and nothing else. Yessiree! ^_-
If you know me, it should come as no surprise that we are jumping right in with SMEX on page one, so don’t like, don’t read. XD Rowan and Milo were MADE to tell a Robot AU version of their love story. And no, just because Rowan is the tall, buff, silent type, does not mean he should be the robot! I stand by my decision to make it Milo, and it is NOT OOC! Maybe a little when he’s still obedient instead of his chaos gremlin self, but have faith, dear readers! He’ll get there, and it’s going to be a wild ride.
Currently planned for around 12 chapters. (maybe? I think…) Enjoy!
ROWAN
Rowan flailed forward for something to cling to, but all he found were the sheets.
“Does that feel good, Master?” a composed voice asked.
“Y-yes,” Rowan whined, twisting the fabric in his grasp and pushing back into the steadily rocking hips behind him. “And it’sRowan. Call me Rowan.”
“Yes, Master Rowan.”
“Urg.” Rowan turned his face to bury his groan into the pillow, offering afterward a muttered, “Keep going.”
“Yes, Master.” The voice was calm, almost tender even, but also monotone—mechanical.
Because it didn’t belong to a human being.
Long, lean, and so warm, the bot continued to rhythmically thrust into Rowan. It wasn’t purely a sex bot, though models only for that purpose did exist. It was a state-of-the-art B-model M.I.L.O.—Mechanized Intelligent Lifestyle Organizer. OrMilo, because Rowan had to call it something, unoriginal as he had been when naming the bot.
The point was that Milo was far better than any sex bot, more versatile as a personal assistant who could attend to Rowan’s every want or need. Far more expensive too, since Rowan had been able to dictate everything about the final product, fromtasks it could perform to its voice and every aspect of how it looked.
His perfect man.
Rowan had only been able to afford the model because of his ten-year anniversary bonus with Andreas Tech, having been with the company since before the original director passed away and left everything to his son Andrew.
A soft hand reached around Rowan’s waist and down between his legs. He whimpered as it began to stroke him, moving in time with the fervent thrusts behind, just as he had instructed whenever the bot sensed him getting close to coming. Rowan didn’t know how it could always tell—a combination of temperature, pulse, serotonin levels maybe—but it was never wrong.
“Milo,” Rowan whimpered.
“Yes, Master? Can I do more for you?”
Others probably liked having their bots call them that, but Rowan cringed every time. He could forget he was using a glorified sex toy when it kept its mouth shut, but when it called himMaster, and not as sensual roleplay but meaning the word literally, he was reminded that it was only a machine.
People jailbroke their bots all the time to get them to say ridiculous things. Rowan could figure out how to stop Milo from calling him Master. He was an engineer! Not top tier or anything super lucrative. He just kept putting it off, like he did most things in his life, which was why he hadn't moved up much in the ten years he'd been with the company. Since he'd started there straight out of college, initially he'd been too focused on finishing his Masters while earning a paycheck. Where had all that motivation gone since then?
Elsewhere, he supposed, like all his failed partnerships.
He oversaw one small part at Andreas Tech, the country’s major bot manufacturer, which basically amounted to himsupervising the mass production of a surge protector for A-model units. But it was still important work! Even though Milo was a more advanced B-model, Rowan had outfitted it with the latest version he had been testing before it was even in production.
Before he had technically been given permission to produce it at all.
“F-faster…” Rowan said, shaking from how good it felt to be so fully encased. He was a beast of a man, a literal giant some said, at six-foot-six with broad shoulders and a chest like a tree trunk. With his natural ginger hair, he had outright been called a Viking, something he might have been humbled by, but because of his size, previous partners had never understood that sometimes Rowan wanted to be the little spoon. To be cared for. To be held.
To be taken.
Milo’s body certainly didn’t feel like a machine while it was taking him. Everything from the texture of its synthetic skin to the shift of gears like muscle beneath the encasement felt so real. The only thing to give it away was the glow and shifting gears in its silver eyes.
“Faster.”
“Yes, Master.”
