“Harder!”
“Ye—”
“Stop talking!”
No response. Rowan adored Milo’s voice, melodic and yet somewhat raspy, but he wanted it to whisper in his ear with intent, not offer him bland affirmations. None of Rowan’s exes had compared to how well Milo knew his body, and a bot would never leave him or tell him he was too detached, too distant, too much of an asshole.
Too difficult to love.
“Harder…yes.” Rowan sobbed with every fresh slam of Milo’s cock inside him, thoroughly fucked and almost finished now, almost there, almost—
He came, hips stuttering into Milo’s hand, which continued to stroke him through the aftershocks. Milo knew just how to care for him, what pressure to use, how long to keep at it until Rowan might become over-sensitized, stopping just before, and pulling away to lie there spooning him.
Despite often being the big spoon, Milo was smaller than Rowan. Significantly smaller. Even designing Milo to be an impressive six-foot-two, Rowan still towered over the bot, and compared to Milo’s trimness, he was three times as broad.
Milo had finished too, a feature to mimic the real thing in texture and taste, but it was just a recycling of fluids within his body, produced to keep his parts running and nontoxic to humans. Another mime that wasn’t the truth.
“Milo… tell me that was wonderful.”
“That was wonderful, Master.”
“Without adding Master.”
“That was wonderful.”
Yep, Rowan was pathetic, the poster child for what not to do with a bot.
He could have sex with it to his heart's content, no one cared about that, but he wasn't supposed to want more than function or to forget that it wasn’t alive. It could think and reason to a certain extent, but it couldn't feel. It could never feel. Its drive to please was only programming.
Still easier than a real boyfriend. Still less painful and disappointing. Besides, Rowan had always done better with machines.
“You can clean us up now,” he said.
“Yes, Master.”
Milo got up to clean itself and then brought back a washcloth for Rowan. Once it had wiped him down, it set the cloth aside and pulled Rowan close, another set of programming that Rowan had standardized when he first got Milo, because he liked to be cuddled, to feel safe and secure, though Milo was one of the few he had admitted that to. It felt too vulnerable to ask that of a real person. Past partners had thought it weak. Maybe it was.
Maybe Rowan was just too weak.
Turning in Milo's hold, he looked at the face he’d had a hand in crafting. The bot was beautiful, exactly as Rowan had requested all those months ago when he’d ordered it, even with random imperfections to make it that much more unique from other models—and nothing like any of his exes.
High shapely cheekbones, straight teeth but not too perfect, a wide smile, and platinum hair. Rowan thought its silver eyes with shifting gears inside were beautiful too. Rowan could appreciate good craftsmanship and the exquisiteness of a well-made machine, but that cool, curious glow also sobered him.
“Close your eyes,” Rowan said.
“Yes, Master.”
Rowan cringed again, but as soon as Milo’s eyes were shut, the illusion was easier to escape into.
The bot could almost be human like this.
It could almost be real.
Nuzzling closer, Rowan nosed Milo’s neck, behind his ear at his hairline, and took a deep breath. Milo smelled fresh and crisp like ripe apples, with a hint of copper from flowing electricity. Rowan loved that smell despite the reality check, because it reminded him of everything he loved about machines and being surrounded by them at work. Even if all he did was build one single part on repeat, he often got lost in the rhythm of it.
Like he got lost in the rhythm of Milo’s hips.
“The time is eleven p.m.,” Milo’s monotone interrupted Rowan kissing its neck, voice always so stiff, never truly lifelike no matter how kind it sounded. “Would you like me to start your tea, Master?”
