The first Noël (and the second, and the third)

by BRK   

Zac gives a hand to a couple of sexy strangers a week before Christmas, and is astonished to receive a generous stroke of goodwill in return a few days later.

Zac watched the snow picking up outside his bedroom window and sighed, the cold outside chilling his bare chest through the glass and psychosomatically perking up his exposed nipples. He almost regretted taking the promotion that had sent him to this Currier and Ives snowglobe of a middle-of-nowhere country town. Sure, it was a nice place full of nice people, and he’d gotten this great old house for a song, saving him enough on the down payment he’d been able to modernize the plumbing and electric before he’d even moved in. But… criminy, how was a fitness-minded Georgia boy supposed to get his daily five mile runs in if God kept filling up the place with all this wet ‘n’ slippery sky-dandruff?

He shook his head and snorted at himself. Buddy, if those are your problems…

It wasn’t the leg-stretching, really. He was just a bit lonely out here. He was a ways from home, with his kith and kin beyond the edge of the world; the sturdy yellow two-story farmhouse he’d bought was a half-mile out from the village proper, too, at the end of a long road with nothing but old barns and abandoned acres down either side. The snow was pretty, and he didn’t mind it really, but the silent expanse of blue-shifted white blanketing the rolling fields and empty scrublands and saturating the air all around with endless swirling flakes of fragile, cloud-crafted ice made him feel even more cut off than he had when he’d gotten here at the height of a crisp and crimson autumn three months back.

His phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. He pulled it out and grimaced at the automated notification, twisting his full lips to one side in annoyance. Of course, their malicious and ornery main e-commerce server had waited until his day off to pack it in and shut down, barely a week before Christmas. Why had he agreed to be the one on call, anyway? But Zac knew why. His two techs were getting married this week—to each other, as it happened—and as far as Zac was concerned nothing on earth would be allowed to interrupt their cozy, green-garlanded staycation honeymoon. He turned and retrieved one of his trademark navy-blue long-sleeve compression tees from over the back of the solid-oak rocking chair that had come with the place, sniffing it for acceptability before shrugging and pulling it on, then headed for the stairs and the short drive to the corporate park where all the job-creating call centers and logistics warehouses were, his brain already leaping ahead and mapping out the steps he’d need to go through to get the company’s big American dollars rolling in again.

It was dark by the time he started back. The snowstorm had further intensified, with curtains of pelting snow trying to block out his windshield and reflecting his headlights back at him. Zac drove very slowly down the deserted county road. He didn’t have far to go, but there was a ditch to one side and a brush-filled ravine descending to a stand of trees to the other, and the plows hadn’t been through here in an hours. Zac’s confidence was marginal. The YouTube videos he’d watched on winter driving, informative as they were, only went so far. 

He was considering pulling over and waiting the storm out when a pair of headlights appeared, coming toward him just a touch too fast. Zac edged over as far as he could, slowing almost to a crawl. Just as the other vehicle—it looked like a red pickup—was within a few yards of coming abreast, Zac heard a loud bang like a tire blowing, and the other vehicle started to swerve. Zac had just enough time to see two alarmed faces through the truck’s windshield before the pickup shot past him, twisting sharply to the left as it plummeted noisily into the ravine behind him.

Zac immediately braked to a stop in horror. He craned to look over his shoulder, but all he could see was the red glow of taillights glowing up from the ravine. Quickly, he put his hazards on, grabbed the heavy-duty flashlight he kept in the glove box for emergencies, zipped up his coat, and got out, trudging as quickly as he could toward where the careening tracks showed exactly where the red pickup had gone off the road.

He stood a moment on the edge of the road, assessing. The pickup wasn’t too far down. It looked like it had crashed through the brush and then slammed against a young maple tree, the force of impact pushing it partly to one side on the nobby slope. The two occupants didn’t seem to be moving, but Zac guessed they were probably just stunned. He was calling it in to 911, giving them the location and his sense of what had happened as best he could, when he noticed a lick of flame from under the truck. Shit. 

Hanging up on the emergency services operator (even though he knew better), Zac shoved his phone in his pocket and clambered down through the snow-freighted brambles to the distressed vehicle. He worried the impact had contorted the frame enough to seal the driver’s door shut, but it wrenched open on the second heave. With a quick glance at the tongues of flame lapping at the side of the truck near the rear wheel well he reached for the driver’s cheek, giving his face a couple of quick pats. 

And what a face, he thought. Chastising himself for such prurient thoughts in an emergency, he slid his fingers down to check for a pulse. Up close the good-looking blond smelled a bit like cinnamon snickerdoodles, but he put the thought aside. Satisfied by the solid thumping, he patted the smooth, angelic cheek again. “Hey! Wake up!” he yelled, glancing at the flames again.

Long-lashed eyelid flickered open, revealing stunning blue eyes. They seemed to focus on Zac almost instantly. “You and your—” He looked over at the passenger, who he now noticed was staring at him with exactly the same blue-eyed gaze, from the midst of exactly the same wholesomely handsome face. “—y-your brother,” he continued, “you need to get out of the truck, immediately.”

The driver looked around quickly, then back at Zac. “We crashed,” he said, not phrasing it as a question, just an unadorned observation. He seemed alert, but gathering information was taking him a second after such a shock. Zac thought that was pretty reasonable. A lot of people he knew would be freaking out.

“Yes,” Zac confirmed, calm but urgent. “And there’s a fire. Are you injured? Are you okay to move?”

By way of answer, the driver pulled himself easily out of the truck as if he were a gymnast exiting a set of parallel bars. In the space of a heartbeat he was standing in front of Zac, demonstrating his superior height and breadth of shoulders filling out his crimson wool coat. Loose flaxen hair peeked out from under a matching crimson beanie. 

The driver smiled, then turned and helped his—twin?—over the console and out of the cab from the driver’s side. Then they were both looking at Zac, the intensity of their cerulean stares making him feel oddly gooey inside.

Taking a deep breath of the bracingly chilly air, he pointed up the slope, through the half-crushed brambles and driving snow. Despite the climb and the snow-packed slickness of the slope the two had no trouble ascending to the highway. One of them—Zac had already lost track of which was which—even quickly turned and extending a strong, ungloved hand to grab Zac’s arm when he almost lost his footing. 

They reached the tarmac in time to hear a loud crack, just before the front of truck suddenly engulfed in chaos-hungry flames. 

Zac and the two strangers stared at it in wonder for a long moment, Zac thinking about the elemental juxtaposition of roaring fire and driving snow. The two brothers were standing to either side of him as they took in the unusual spectacle, so that when they turned to face him, Zac couldn’t help being aware of the serious difference in height and size—Zac was no willow-wand, but the two men had a good head on him and maybe fifty pounds of exquisitely crafted muscle. It wasn’t intimidating, though. Quite the opposite. Zac found himself feeling like he was being quietly enclosed in a safe and secure place even before they hugged him, filling his nostrils with the subtle, intoxicatingly sharp scent of cinnamon as their hard flesh pressed into him. 

“You saved us,” one of them said. Again, it was a simple statement, delivered in an almost flat tone, yet something about his having said the words at all suggested that he considered this fact interesting and remarkable. 

They were hugging Zac from the sides at first. But then things shifted—he wasn’t sure if it was a conscious movement on his part, or something less explainable—and he was facing one of them. the other behind him, and he was being gently squeezed between these two extra-tall, stone-muscled, sweet-faced. spice-scented godlings while the sounds of cracking metal and gusting wind surrounded them. He looked up into deep pools of crystal blue and realized he was already getting a serious stiffie and nothing was going to stop it. 

The twins smiled, and Zac was like, Fuck it. He hugged back at last, sliding his arms around the wool coat and the solid frame underneath and squeezing hard. Both brothers tightened their embrace. Their hands moved slowly over his body and each other’s in a way that Zac didn’t want to end any time soon.

“Our man will be very pleased with you,” the one behind him said, pressing his thick erection firmly against Zac’s ass, even as the other one pushed his own identical hard-on against Zac’s slightly less impressive tool. 

Zac shuddered pleasantly at the implications of the words “our man,” like they had rediscovered the primeval truth that polyandry was the true and normal condition of humanity. True, the words might have meant entirely innocently; but snug in a tight, erotic embrace with hard cocks nudging his flesh Zac was hard pressed to interpret it in any way that didn’t involve three or more dudes fucking. 

He looked up into the handsome, sharp-jawed face in front of him and thought, That is one lucky man. Then he felt a moment of deep cringe when the taller man smiled, and he realized he had spoken his dirty thoughts aloud.

“I think we are the lucky ones,” he said, simply and honestly. Then, to Zac’s astonishment, he bent and gave the shorter man a gentle but unmistakably sexual kiss, right on the lips, while the other one placed a similar kiss, sweet and open-mouthed and just a little provocative, on exactly the most erogenous spot on the side of his neck. 

Zac considered letting himself cum in his pants right then and there.

Then he was aware of flashing red and blue lights and another vehicle rolling to a stop beside them. Right, I called the cops, Zac thought as the three of them reluctantly separated, not without a few last gropes of Zac’s ass and shoulders. Silly me.

It wasn’t until he was finally pulling into his driveway that Zac realized he’d never gotten the two brothers’ names. Or their number, or any way to reach them. He rolled into his extra-large, semidetached two-car garage and sighed wistfully as he pulled the parking brake. He was still hard, still buzzing with the pleasure that had seeped through him from their embrace like it was something the two men exuded, a living sexual essence that was communicable and meant to be shared. 

Their “man” was one lucky fucker, whoever he was. He might never see those two again, but right now he was happy to bask in the deep, bonerific enjoyment of having met and felt and kissed not one but two extremely singular men… and that cinnamony feeling would last him, he thought, quite a while indeed.

“Sucks you’re so far away on Christmas Eve, bro,” Owen said over the video connection on Zac’s tablet, his dark eyes glinting. “I got no one to steal the turkey leg from.” Zac’s brother smiled warmly, transforming his starkly chiseled, sun-bronzed features of a prehistoric warrior into those of a benevolent rain god or a kindly warrior-king—one who was not above needling his less-mythic-looking younger brother. The colorful, parrot-festooned Hawaiian shirt he was wearing seemed like a particularly galling dig, contrasting rather pointedly with Zac’s ecru cable-knit turtle neck. 

“Uh huh,” Zac returned archly, unable to suppress a smile. He leaned back in his own couch, a massive extra-comfy leather monstrosity that had, like the rocking chair, randomly come with the house. “Somehow I think you’ll manage.”

Another man dipped into the shot, dropping onto the couch next to Owen and immediately moving in for a kiss on the cheek. Zac smiled—Owen’s young doctor husband, Remi, loved inserting himself into any situation. “You can steal my turkey leg anytime, babe,” he told Owen playfully, his cute Gallic features and loose-limbed, gangly demeanor seeming designed to show happiness and pass it on, too. His patients at the hospital he interned at loved him, and even the administration and senior doctors tended to treat him as an asset—despite his questionable sense of humor.

Zac snorted. “For fuck’s sake, Rem. That’s seriously weird.”

Remi beamed for the camera. “Anything to make you laugh, Z,” he said easily, equally mischievous and affectionate. 

“What are you doing for the holiday, bro?” Owen said. “Please tell me you’re not knocking around your little Winter Wonderland all alone like some kind of forlorn—” He faltered, unable to complete the analogy.

“Snow Miser?” Zac suggested, amused. “Yeti? Santa without his elves?”

“Oh, ouch,” Owen winced. “That’s fucking bereft. You should at least have some reindeer!”

“You’ll have to investigate the local caribou population and see if any have glowing red noses,” Remi put in.

“Totally,” Zac agreed drily. “Seriously, guys, I’m fine. I baked Toll House cookies earlier, I got five Christmas horror movies queued up and a Cornish game hen in the oven, so—”

The doorbell rang. The traditional two-note sound was so loud in the still house, and so unexpected—who could that be, out here, after dark on Christmas Eve?—that Zac jolted. Owen and Remi’s eyes widened, then they both laughed.

“I knew it!” Remi teased. “You’re having a bunch of guys over! And he wanted to hide the fun from us, O,” he added, grinning at his husband.

Zac grimaced and moved to disconnect the call. “No, don’t hang up!” Owen enthused with a maniacal grin. “We want to see!”

“Goodbye!” Zac sang. “Merry Christmas, fuckers!” He hung up on their laughing faces, then, setting the tablet on the coffee table, he twisted in the direction of the front door and frowned. Seriously, who the fuck—?

The doorbell rang again. Zac got up and moved slowly toward the front door, glad he hadn’t already watched those holiday slasher films. He was on edge enough.

He opened his door to find a scraggly-bearded, fiftyish delivery man, complete with a clipboard and heavy gray jacket embroidered with “Northern Logistics.” Beyond him, much to Zac’s amazement, a 14-foot delivery truck was backed up in his driveway. The back of the truck was rolled up, exposing a single, massive crate poised near the lip, almost gleaming in the glare of Zac’s exterior security lights. It was an actual wooden crate, not a cardboard shipping box: maybe five feet on a side, so that it formed almost a perfect cube, and… oddly familiar? Zac stared at it for a long moment, faintly confused at the same time a little excited, too. Maybe it just felt like all the crates he’d seen in old movies—relics being delivered to museums to cause mayhem and intrigue, that kind of thing. Zac didn’t quite believe that was the reason for the anticipation, fluttering around the edges of his stomach, though.

He looked at the lean, stubby, oddly paternal delivery guy, who smiled at him in a “I’ve had a million customers before you and I’ll have a million more, but none of ’em ever get to me” kind of way. Zac had to admire his customer service ethic. He was glad that IT admins didn’t have to deal with actual clients. 

Delivery Dad offered him the clipboard—again, it wasn’t a device of some kind but a real clipboard with a paper form. What year was this guy from, anyway? “Sign here,” he said in a pleasant, gravely voice, offering him a ballpoint with a chewed-on blue cap and pointing at line 23 on the registry. Feeling a little dazed, Zac signed next to his neatly block-printed name and handed the clipboard back, then the tooth-marked pen. 

They both looked at the crate, then Delivery Dad the doorframe Zac was standing in a dubious look. It was obviously too narrow. “Garage?” the old man suggested.

A few maneuvers with a hand truck followed—Zac offered to help, but Delivery Dad waved him off, obviously stronger than he looked after however many years carting around who knew what. In a trice, the crate was parked smack in the middle of the empty second bay of Zac’s garage. He stared at it in bemusement. It was nailed shut, which meant he needed a crowbar—did even have one? Maybe in his car trunk? He looked up to ask Delivery Dad if there was one he could borrow, but he was already gone… the truck, too, like a will-o’-the-wisp vanishing into the silence of the night. 

Zac stared into the crisp, dark black of the fields beyond his country house, then shook his head and hit the button the close the garage door. Weird, weirder, weirdest, he thought.

As it happened he did have a crowbar in his trunk, and a few quick pies later he had the lid off and was taking a gander inside. He was a little disappointed it wasn’t packed full of straw and artifacts of unknown power, like crates always were in the movies, but an assemblage of foam cuboids, some long and narrow, some close to square on all sides. The thrill of receiving an unexpected, eerily sensory-apparatus-tickling package ebbed a tiny bit. He pursed his lips, resting his hands on his hips. “Whatever this is, it should have been marked ‘some assembly required’ in big stenciled letters,” he muttered.

One of the squarer ones near the left side was marked OPEN ME FIRST. Surprisingly, or maybe not, the words were written in a familiar tidy, block-letter hand. Obediently, Zac moved around and tried lifting up the foam from that piece with both hands. As he did so he discovered it was actually a molded lid on the inside… and underneath it was the disembodied head of a very handsome blond man, exactly like the one—no, the two—he’d rescued from the side of country road G in a snowstorm not even a week back, complete with the same faint, enticing smell and low-level sense of erotic connection as before.

The eyes opened, shocking Zac as bad as any jump scare. “Hi Zac!” the head greeted him cheerily. “Merry Christmas!”

“You know,” Zac said conversationally as he brought the last of the foam-packed, er, components in from the garage, setting the long heavy piece next to several similar ones in the midst of a treasure hunt of gray foam containers strewn about his large, open living room, “pretty much the last thing I expected when I pulled you guys out of a burning truck last week was to find out that you’re assembled from a kit like the fucking Interocitor from This Island Earth.” He set the long piece down and looked around him, considering where to start.

“Interocitor?” repeated the disembodied head currently nestling in a corner of his loveseat. “‘Ah, your composer, of course.’”

Zac gave him a long look, then broke a reluctant smile. “Smartass.” He bent and lifted the top foam half off the piece he’d just brought in, revealing… a leg. A human leg, sans foot. A very shapely leg. Zac was half boned, feeling like he was edging the process of getting hard rather than being hard and edging his release. It was a new feeling for him and he liked it, a lot. He could deal with feeling like this 24/7, honestly, pleasantly almost-aroused when he wasn’t inflamed with lust and full-bore needing to erupt in a long, lingering, cum-jetting orgasm. It was starting to dawn on him that he might be literally about to construct just such an existence for himself. His stomach fluttered happily, and his balls tightened just a hair.

Lots of parts, but no tools, he thought. Not even an Allen wrench. 

He examined the ends of the leg. Both the cap at the hip and the one at the ankle had a soft, pale gray surface that was warm to the touch—he felt a faint buzz as he brushed his fingertips across its, as though it were alive in the same way an electrical lead was alive, or a sizzling portal to another universe was alive. This was obviously the means of connection with matching parts. Maybe even with nonmatching parts, he thought unexpectedly. The idea surprised him, coming from a part of his brain he hadn’t much indulged in his previous erotic adventures, but his lips were already twisting in a smirk.

“By the way,” the head said as all kinds of odd configurations flitted through Zac’s mind, “you’ve probably guessed this, but it wasn’t actually me you rescued. K-7 and K-8 were doing a bit of supply reconnaissance nearby, and have already returned to the—to our home base.”

Zac removed the top half of the foam protective mold from the next identical long piece, revealing another long, tanned, well-proportioned apedal leg. Given the angle of the cap that was meant to seal against the hip this must be a left leg and the first one he’d opened a right, but the difference in the seal was slight and the legs seemed to be otherwise the same. He glanced up at the head. Everything about him looked realistically human and very well taken care of, from the healthy skin tone and bright blue eyes to the luster of the shoulder-length blond hair that fell over its ears. You could almost believe that he was a man who happened to be sitting inside the chair, or whose body happened to be connected to him in a way other than simple three-dimensional abutment. Which might be closer to the actual explanation than he might have thought, Zac mused, remember the buzzy feel of the pale, warm connectors. 

“K-7 and K-8?” he asked, incredulous. “You don’t have actual names? No distinct identities or personalities?”

The head gave the impression of shrugging—a neat trick without shoulders, Zac thought. “It’s more that where we come from, we’re pretty much interchangeable.” He smirked. “We all like it that way.”

Zac frowned, scratching the fine stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave off that morning. “So I can’t give you a name? Like, say… Fred?”

“Of course you can. We’re here for you, Zac. Our man was quite grateful you helped us, so he decided to share a little gift with you in return.”

“Wait—’we’?” Zac was conscious there were a lot of units distributed across his living room floor. His arousal edged up a notch, making his throat dry a little. He swallowed. “How—how many of you are there? Here, I mean?”

“Fred” considered him for a moment, as though he were sizing up the shapes and quirks of Zac’s complex libido. “You know,” he said at last with a slow smile, “I think that’s kind of up to you, dude.”

Zac narrowed his eyes at the hunky noggin, but Fred the Head didn’t explain further. Giving up on explanations for the moment, Zac rose and set about creating an inventory of just what had been shipped to him in such an unconventional fashion. Once his list was complete, it turned out he had enough heads, limbs, hips, and torsos to make three complete… androids? artificial humaniforms? ho-ho-homeboys?… plus extra spares of things like hands, feet, genitals, and even unexpected items like fingers and tongues. All of which got Zac’s mind thinking at a fevered pace, because everything was modular in a way that seemed to encourage various possibilities. 

The chest and shoulders, for example, were separate from the neck and lower torso, and the arms attached on either side. That meant of course that that were easy to swap out, but it also seemed tailor made for building a human body according to the Lego principle—i.e., anything that snaps together is good to go, and you can always rebuild it some other way whenever you want. Not only was there no Allen wrench, there was no Kragle in sight, either. A rush of anticipation washed through him, but he looked back at Fred. “What if—?” he started to say, but Fred cut him off.

“Try it and find out,” the head replied, his voice oddly husky in a way that Zac wasn’t expecting from a hunk-in-a-box that came in a crate.

Zac swallowed hard and got to work.

He started by first attaching a right foot to the first of the legs he’d found, then pulling it off. Initially he pulled at the big toe more than he intended to, thereby accidentally discovering that the toes on the preassembled feet were also modular. Good to know. After establishing that the foot could be removed and replaced, Zac cleared an open area in the midst of the various parts and packages and laid out the foot and leg assembly, jumping back slightly when the toes wiggled and splayed as if stretching after a long voyage. 

Zac glanced sharply at the handsome head watching him from the love seat. “Did you do that?” he demanded.

Fred seemed to consider. “Sort of…?” he hedged. “I mean, most of the control and intelligence ins situated in the head, but not all of it.”

“Uh huh.” Zac found the second leg, added a left foot, and laid it next to the other one. Then he went to the reserve of toes, found a couple of second toes, then brought them back. Glancing over at Fred, he carefully worked the sixth toe in between the others. As soon as the contact point of the toe came within an inch or so of the others, the foot started to adapt, spreading slightly and making a little gap between the second and third toes. Now holding Fred’s gaze he pushed the extra toe in, feeling it connect and then wiggle under his fingers. Fuck, this setup is made for this, he thought, his cock now completely hard. Just to be sure, he asked, “This okay?”

Fred’s eyes were bright and attentive. “Very okay,” he said. Fuuuck, Zac thought.

He found the hips next, and connected the legs. As shipped the groin was Ken-doll smooth, but he’d already found the unit that was packed with soft cocks and scrota set in recessed foam like wrinkly hand grenades. Instead of retrieving what he needed, he brought the box over and, before he could second-guess himself, swiftly attached two sets of very fat and hefty nuts to the smooth, amber groin. The cinnamon aroma was stronger here, interestingly, as if it were the ultimate point of origin, for the others he’d encountered, K-7 and K-8, as well as the one before him. 

Behind him, Fred took in a breath as the testicles took hold. Zac turned to look at him. “Problem?” he asked archly.

Fred smiled, eyes darkening. “Just... be careful, buckaroo. The more testicles we have, the more… attention we will need.”

Zac smirked back at him. “Is that so?” Very deliberately, he picked up three of the phalluses, each four inches flaccid, from the foam packaging and, glancing at Fred each time, carefully situated them above the nuts he’d just installed, two side by side and the third just underneath them. 

“Ho… ho….” Fred breathed. As soon as the cocks installed they started to harden in his hands, showing considerable expansion until the half-assembled hunk had three ragingly stiff, impressively girthy 12-inch uncut erections over two sets of thick, taut balls Zac could almost feel churning with a deep, spice-flavored need.

“Keep going!” Fred urged in a whisper, clearly feeling the mounding physical need of the partially completed build-a-bod. Yeah? Try and stop me, Zac thought. He found the lower torso with its built in gently chiseled six-pack, then unpacked two chest units and four of the arms. His cock throbbed as he laid the firm, not-too-big pectoral modules above each other on his living room floor. This was the real test. Modularity, or just spares?

He connected the first chest to the abdominal section, watching it seal without any visible seam into a single unit, Then, his pulse pounding, he joined the second chest unit to the top of the first, and almost came in his pants as it sealed, too, creating a perfectly normal-looking torso with two stacked sets of very nice pecs. Zac slid his hands across the firm muscles. 

“Fucking tease,” Fred goaded him from the love seat. “C’mon, finish me off!”

Zac grinned over at him. “So to speak?” But he found the arms and attached them to each set of pecs, giving the figure four well-sculpted arms to go with his idyllic chest. Then, because he had to, he found the box of fingers and added two more to every hand. The wiggled as he pulled them in, the hands clearly itching to reach for him and bring about the climax they both wanted. 

It was time for the head, but Zac’s fantasies were running roughshod over his moderation. He picked up the Fred head from the love seat, setting it down near the shoulders without attaching it. Then he stood and went over to the second of the three cube-like units, unpacking a second, identical head. When it opened its eyes, he could see they were dark with exactly the same intense lust he’d just seen in the first one. “Duuude,” it said.

“You want this?” Zac asked, knowing it was crystal clear what he intended. 

“Do it,” the head demanded, breathless and flushed with arousal. 

Zac grinned. Trembling, he knelt next to the body, setting the head down next to the other. Both of them were watching him, needy and impatient. Wanting to ensure absolute parity he grasped both heads by the skull and pushed them against the shoulders. As they unified with their new body, they moaned in unison, and Zac knew that none of them would be able to hold off from cumming for very long—this time.

As soon as the heads were connected, the two-headed Fred leapt to his feet and gathered Zac up in a fierce four-armed hug, kissing him on the mouth and neck almost savagely. They came spectacularly within seconds, staying rock hard and aroused as their kisses mellowed and became more mutually probing and sensual. Seeing as Zac’s feet were dangling a few inches off the floor at this point (the build-a-bod defaults already having been designed to be impressively tall even without the stacked pecs Zac had added by way of customization), it was thus up to Fred to walk them slowly upstairs to what would thenceforward be their big, cozy, blanket-strewn bed, making out passionately the whole way there.

The next day, after a suitable morning-after sleep-in snuggle and a very pleasant, conversation-filled brunch over Christmas strawberry waffles and Fred’s delicious secret-ingredient mochas, the two of them together set about building a second housemate from the remaining units, whom they mutually decided was to be called “Jed.” This one was a bit more normal, with at least the silhouette of a mundane human like Zac; though the plenitude of supplied spare parts meant that he had well over the usual complement of fingers and toes and, unsurprisingly, a Fred-matching four-pack of heavy, fat, cinnamon-scented testicles. Zac was tempted to plug in a third set, just to see what happened, but given that Fred seemed close to insatiable and was already groping Zac’s ass looking for the next round convinced him that a quartet was probably the max, at least for now. They hadn’t been able to resist jamming all six of the remaining “spare” cocks onto his groin, though, each of them springing into instant, huge footlong hardness and nuzzling each other in a kind of needy desperation. When his head was finally attached, Jed moaned loudly and said, “Dudes, that is a lot of cock you’re going to have to suck down.” Zac and Fred just grinned, breathed in his sexy scent, and got to work.

They settled into a routine together as a loving threesome. At first Fred and Jed stayed home while Zac went to work, but they all wanted to be more a part of the community, so Fred and Jed got jobs in the bakery (did the owner think subconsciously register their spicy-sweet musk, Zac wondered, and think they naturally belonged there?). They also joined the volunteer fire department—conveniently, their training was already built in, and the necessary proof was mysteriously among Zac’s papers they day they needed it, along with ids and birth certificates. Both of them got a lot of stares from the townsfolk, even given that Fred removed his extra head whenever he was on his way into town; no one had the chutzpah to remark on his extra arms, but they seemed to meet with general approval. The two playful newcomers even got propositioned a few times early on, notably by an awestruck Denny at the little gym in town and Louie, the one “fireman calendar”-type firefighter they had; but word quickly spread that Zac, Fred, and Jed were in love and very much a throuple, and in the end they were brought into the bosom of the sleepy, snow-clad village together.

Zac, for his part, knew better than to think of his gift as a reward; he had just been lucky enough to encounter the right people while he was busy helping them out, like anyone woulda done. Sometimes he wondered just where K-7 and K-8 were these days, and what they were up to. Maybe he and his lovers would get to visit them and their many brothers, someday.

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