Unboxing Viktor

by BRK

In a not-so-distant future, Christian receives a gift that reminds him of the hot neighbor he has a crush on.

3,316 words Added Feb 2024 890 views 5.0 stars (9 votes)

Vote on this story Jump to comments Suggest tags for this story Print / PDF Share Update history More like this Symbols Unit conversion Report a problem


Christian dropped into the back seat of the airtaxi with a long release of breath, leaning his head back against the cushions and closing his eyes gratefully. “Orion Towers, please,” he told the car.

“Certainly,” a pleasantly masculine synthesized voice said. “Street entrance or Skyport?”

Christian hesitated. He’d moved into the 100-story semiluxury semisuburban skyscraper a full six months ago now, and he still hadn’t decided whether it was easier to get to his rooms on the 55th floor from above or below. Normally he took the New Metro so it didn’t matter. But after the just-completed and ultimately successful top-priority Friday night client outing at the swank rooftop restaurant behind him, the kind of shindig that involved a lot of food, a lot of swagger, and just the right amount of top-shelf booze, it was easier just flag down a passing cab. 

Mentally he flipped a coin. “Skyport, please.”

“Thank you,” the car replied. “ETA is four minutes.”

As the taxi slid silently into the skyway transit lanes leading out of the city center, bound for the calmer climes of high-rise suburbia, Christian pondered his work/life balance. He wriggled his broad shoulders in a conscious effort to relax. Most people probably had their homes and neighborhood figured out better than he did, he thought sourly. But being go-to junior partner at Sendra Metasolutions meant he was a busy guy. He’d risen fast on a mix of dedication, hard work, and good looks, his striking red hair, piercing blue eyes, and tall, lean, hard-sculpted body catching the eye of his prospects and his diligence and charm doing the rest. His brash masculine confidence was smoothed with exactly the right natural touch of effeminacy, making him more approachable and intriguing to colleagues and customers—especially when he was done up all sleek and elegant in his fanciest suits and a bit of product in his hair, or dressed down a level in a crisp white dress shirt and butt-hugging pleated slacks, as he was now. He was always either at his desk, at the gym (tablet in front of him as he worked out), or on the town with enthused high-profilers and glad-handing execs grateful for the largesse he shoveled their way. 

It wasn’t how he’d thought it would be, this dream path of his. It was all good, it was fine, but he couldn’t help thinking his life of success was starting to take on a certain sameness.

Even now his work brain was telling him he wasn’t done with the day. He still had forty-five minutes of free time before sleep, time he could be using to sign documents or layer a few more ounces of muscle onto his carefully-honed torso. He could at least and keep himself limber. Elegance wasn’t any more of a gimme than sleek, hard muscles. 

Christian pushed his inner scheduler firmly aside. He wanted to be home—just, home. 

The aircar slowed and he opened his eyes, a flutter tickling his stomach as he recognized his destination coming into view. I should see if Paulo’s around tonight, he thought.

He’d increasingly found himself looking forward to his increasingly regular encounters with his across-the-hall neighbor. During the day Paulo, a Brazilian engineer skilled in nanotechnology, was almost as work-focused as Christian, but at night he was all relaxed smiles and easy friendship, always glad to share a starlit walk or a simple meal, or a cozy bout of old movies—the kind of old-fashioned utter laziness best enjoyed with a good friend. The guy started bringing over that delicious steamed Chinese take-out they both liked once a week or so, at first claiming he’d ordered too much. Other times he’d be texting Christian about shows he’d be up for binge-watching, if Christian was game. They saw each other most days now, and texted more and more.

As a good-looking man used to men paying attention to him, Christian suspected Paulo of having a bit of a crush on him, and it had been creeping up on him lately that the sentiment was increasingly reciprocated. Paulo was certainly a very sexy man: shorter than Christian and bursting with muscle, he had jet black hair, piercing brown eyes, and dark skin decorated with a multitude of tribal tattoos that Christian wanted to trace as he asked about each and every one. So far, they’d only hugged and cozied up on Christian’s extra-deep couch for a bit of shared streaming time; but lately Christian had been waking up hard after nights filled with dreams featuring even hotter fantasy versions of his oh-so-hot friend. 

Just thinking about those dreams and snuggles as the car slid into the port was making Christian’s cock thick and heavy in his pants. This was another fortunate byproduct of his genetics, though perhaps not as directly useful to his career as his other gifts, he thought wryly. 

Sighing at his ridiculousness he got out his phone to pay, but once the device was in his hand he impulsively pulled up Paulo’s linkscreen instead. “Hey,” he typed. “You around?”

The message sent. Too late he looked at the text again winced. Definitely sounds like a booty call, he thought. His lips quirked, even as his pulse sped up a bit. Oh well

What if, though? It had been a couple days since he’d seen his friend, and he might as well admit he had a hankerin’, as his grandpa used to say.

“Destination reached,” the car announced gently, polite as ever. Oh, right. He tapped his phone on the screen in front of him. “Have a nice evening,” the voice said.

Without a word, Christian got out, staring at his screen as he walked slowly to the elevator, the light wind riffling his ginger locks. The whole way down to his floor he watched for a response, feeling increasingly uneasy as none came. Paulo was almost always up at this hour, and he always answered texts. His texts, anyway. 

The elevator opened on 55 and he stepped out. There were only two apartments on this floor, his and Paulo’s, the corridor was just a short stub with two apartment doors almost but not quite across from each other, plus elevator and the door to the emergency stairs at one end and the refuse and utilities room at the other. Christian walked the few steps to Paulo’s door and rapped gently.


Christian bit his lip. Paulo not being home and awake at this hour was weird, especially three days in a row. Was he gone somewhere? Or just… gone? Rubbing his rusty stubble uncertainly he crossed over to his place and keyed in the entry code, pushing the door in when it beeped.

He was so preoccupied he almost stumbled into the large gleaming white plasti-pine shipping crate that had been parked right there in his darkened living room, directly in front of the frickin’ door—apparently by a bunch of braindead deliverybots. “Appleguts!” he cursed under his breath, just barely having avoided stubbing his toe on the coffin-sized monstrosity, lit only by the moonlight and the soft luminescence of the nearby city through his full-wall picture window. 

He stepped back, staring at the thing incredulously. Okay, what the hell?

He walked around the sturdy prefab crate. Oddly, it was unmarked—no drone barcode, no airbill label, not even sticker that read “this side up.” The box was pristine, without a single transit scuff. An eerie chill slithered up Christian’s spine. 

He crouched for a closer look. He should have turned on the overhead ceramic phosphors, but the plastipine surface was so reflective it seemed to light itself. How did it even open? There didn’t seem to be a seam or anything. Tentatively, he placed a hand on the upper surface.

Immediately it slid to the side, and Christian quickly pulled his hand back. Lights sparked within the fancy crate, revealing the contents.

Christian pushed to his feet with a horrified gasp. “Paulo—?” he breathed.

Fuck, it was a coffin after all!


He frowned, bending closer. The well-muscled figure in the crate, clad in nothing but Crayola-blue boxer-briefs, certainly looked a lot like his tall, dark, and handsome tattooed across-the-hall neighbor. But the resemblance was not exact. For one thing, the real Paulo didn’t have a narrow, shaved gap in his right eyebrow, or a jangle of three little titanium hoops in his left earlobe, or a perfectly sculpted goatee that looked black as shoe-polish in the glow of the in-crate lighting. This jaw was a bit squarer, too. 

And then there was the rest of him. He’d seen Paulo mostly naked a couple of times when he’d stopped over to say hi after work, and… okay, the guy in the crate was ripped like Paulo, with all the same proportions, but he wasn’t as heavyweight thick as his friend. It was almost as though Paulo’s iron-hard swole had been dialed back to a more neutral setting.

His eyes snagged on those blue shorts. Unlike his package, Christian couldn’t help thinking. Crate Guy’s junk was, if anything, the opposite of scaled down from the already-hefty Paulo original. 

He was actually salivating, Christian realized, amused. That bulge… it looked swole as fuck.

He looked over the figure, baffled. Was this real? Was he seeing things? Had he gotten more trashed at the dinner than he’d thought?

Christian shook his head, no longer sure what he was looking at; but he couldn’t deny his reaction. His skin felt heated, and the latent chub he’d been sporting since the cab was inflating again toward full appreciation. It… it couldn’t actually be that someone had randomly shipped him a Paulo-themed personal droid, though that was sure what it looked like. 

It didn’t make sense. Sure, okay, there were household robots made to help with cleaning and basic mundane tasks; that was pretty common. Many of them came with various utilitarian attachments—pop out a hand and replace it with a vacuum attachment or reading lamp, that kind of thing. But even in this era of advanced robotics and everyday A.I., perfect, ultranatural humaniform androids like this were still the stuff of science fiction. And, maybe, certain kinds of intimate fantasy. 

So, it couldn’t be. Right? But, if not that—? “What are you?” he whispered aloud as he stood by the strange crate, intrigued, aroused, and mystified all at once. “Where did you come from?”

As if triggered by his voice the eyes dramatically popped open, blinking twice. Vivid browns, a notch brighter than Paulo’s, fixed directly on him, and Christian felt a little thrill up his back at their touch. “Hello,” the figure in the box said, smiling warmly. “Welcome home!”

With an effort of will, Christian prevented himself from stepping back. “H-hello,” he said. The figure continued to smile at him, his gaze unwavering, and Christian found himself unexpectedly turned on by the heated attention. He bit his lip and made himself step forward, then, realizing he was looming, he crouched and tried to smile back. “Sorry, um, wh—” He’d started to say what, but at the last minute switched to who. “—who are you?” 

The hunk-that-wasn’t-Paulo was still smiling, not just warmly but with what seemed like real affection. That gaze was acute and knowing, tinged with interest and even lust. “I’m Viktor,” he said softly. “I’m here to help with… anything you need.”

Christian was unable to hold back a smirk. “Anything?” he repeated. Probably Viktor had just meant mopping floors and fetching the mail like a conventional household bot, he told himself… but it sure didn’t sound like that was what he meant.

“Absolutely,” the android said. “I’m your Papa.”

Christian huffed out a laugh in surprise. “You’re my what?” he asked with a grin,

Those bright brown eyes seemed to twinkle. “Papa,” Viktor repeated with a quirk of his soft, inviting, beard-framed lips. The stylized eyebrow lifted slightly. “Physically Adaptable Personal Android.” The way he said the word personal seemed to convey a layer of deliberate subtext that Christian definitely did not miss. His eyes danced over Christian’s face in seeming appreciation, even lighting up a little as they glanced across Christian’s distinctive, perfectly styled red hair before returning to his piercing blue stare. That was hot—he liked it when guys noticed his hair.

Christian held the android’s heated gaze and decided to focus on the other end of the description first. “Physically adaptable, huh?”

“Infinitely,” Viktor said. “You might even call me I, Papa.” Christian blinked, wondering of the android had just made a joke. 

“Help me up?” Viktor added, reaching up his right hand for Christian to clasp. 

Christian didn’t move for a beat, just admiring the strong-looking hand, ordinary in every way and yet oddly thrilling. Done looking, he grasped the hand and pulled the briefs-clad android to his feet and out of the semiplastic shipping crate. He had no doubt that Viktor could have easily done so himself, but he was more than happy to help. 

Now they were facing each other, their still-clasped hands between them, Viktor’s toes curling into the thick, snuggly pile of his dark blue living room carpeting. They were eye-to-eye, Christian noticed—another deviation from the slightly shorter Paulo. He smiled, imagining Paulo seeing this little tableau. Had the nanoengineer been involved in creating this wonder? Would he be jealous watching Christian standing here, hot and hard as a rock in his sexy semicasual shirt-and-slacks wine-and-dine outfit, up close and personal with his android not-quite-doppelgänger? 

“Look at my hand,” Viktor instructed, his tone still soft and intimate.

Christian looked down and drew in a breath. The hand now had a twin—another hand emerged from the same wrist, grasping both their hands together. “Wow,” Christian said. “That’s… adaptable, all right.” He met Viktor’s bright brown eyes with a half-grin of awed disbelief.

“Now, kiss me,” Viktor said.

Christian’s brows lifted. “Bossy for an android, aren’t you?” he teased.

Viktor inched his face closer, his smile knowing. “I am merely offering a tour of this unit’s many features,” he purred. 

Christian wasn’t fooled by the android’s confident deference. He was certain Viktor was quite capable of taking charge, and the thought only turned him on more than he already was. 

With the uninhibitedness of the slightly lubricated Christian dove in for what quickly became a feverish kiss, only to grunt in astonishment as the long, nimble tongue wrestling playfully with his started to harden and thicken as they made out, until he realized he was giving head to the deliciously thick and crazy-hard ten-inch cock Viktor now had in place of his talented tongue. 

Christian moaned. This was exactly the kind of thing that had been happening more and more in Christian’s dreams—a Paulo that was like Paulo, but more. Had he known? It didn’t matter. He was so turned on he couldn’t think. The taste and feel of this hard, fat, uncut mouthcock and the possibilities it suggested drove him over the edge like a freight train over a cliff, and he clutched Victor’s naked chest to him with his free hand as he came spectacularly in his best ass-hugging slacks. Viktor came too, aligning his orgasm exactly with Christian’s, the spray of hot cum on his throat and the intimacy of the bj-make-out creating a feedback loop that intensified Christian’s climax almost beyond endurance.

They tried to keep kissing around gasps and pants, open-mouthed and sloppy. Viktor’s mouth-boner softened, reverting back into a long, strong, cummy tongue that was happy to resume its sinuous writhing against Christian’s eager, equally spunky counterpart.

Finally Christian broke the kiss and they pulled back, breathing hard. Their hands remained gripped between them, the extra hand still clasping their threaded fingers. Christian didn’t want to let go. He was delightfully and deliriously flushed and slightly sweaty, and he was pleased to see that Viktor looked post-orgasmic, too, a line of cum dribbling down from one side of his kiss-bruised lips, though his eyes suggested a tireless lust that was completely at Christian’s disposal.

“Not bad,” Christian said. “Is that all of your… features?”

Viktor smiled. “Not at all,” he said. He held up his left arm, revealing that the hand on that side had been replaced with a cast-iron skillet, joined perfectly to his wrist as if it had always been there. When Christian turned his astonished eyes back to Viktor’s, the android winked and added, “I also cook!”

Christian laughed, hard, and Viktor laughed with him. Then they started kissing again, and Christian learned about other things Viktor could do that had nothing to do with kitchens and housework, and everything to do with personal assistance.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A day and two nights of debauchery later, Viktor padded naked out of the bedroom, four-armed and six-handed, his cocks thick and swollen with a permanent partial arousal, to find Christian curled up equally nude in the armchair by the big picture window, staring out at the predawn light with his phone asleep in his hand. Viktor watched him admiringly. Christian had been tentative at first, but had rapidly opened up to Viktor (figuratively and otherwise), experimenting with Viktor’s endlessly changeable body, detaching this and morphing that, becoming more adventurous as he’d awakened his latent sex life and merged it with his recently kindled fantasies. So why was he out here looking slightly melancholy? 

Viktor moved around behind his naked, stunningly hot human lover and started rubbing his shoulders with all six hands. Christian moaned lightly. He was very vocal, Viktor had discovered, which had been a nice surprise. 

“What can I do?” Viktor asked solicitously.

Christian let out a breath. “Nothing,” he said. He lifted the phone in his hand, though the screen had gone blank. “My… friend isn’t returning my texts.”

Viktor felt a twinge of excitement at this. “You miss Paulo?” he asked.

Christian looked up at him sharply. “Yes,” he said suspiciously. “What—?”

Viktor came around the chair and slid effortlessly onto Christian’s lap, brushing a finger across his lips. He followed the touch with a kiss. “Ask,” he said finally.

More gently, Christian asked. “What do you know about Paulo, Viktor?”

Viktor smiled lovingly. “All information about Paulo is stored in me,” he said. When Christian’s flame-red brows drew together he added, “I… was Paulo.”

He watched understanding dawn in those penetrating blue eyes. “You…?” he began.

“…made myself like this,” he said. “I became this. For you.”

Christian’s jaw dropped slightly at the immensity of the revelation. At the same time he felt Christian’s impressive tool swelling to almost instant hardness under him.

Those blue eyes filled with fiery need. He watched as Christian’s delicious mouth spread in a very salacious smile. “Do that thing with your tongue again,” he growled. Viktor smiled, his entire being swelling to full and easy arousal as he melded his mouth against Christian’s. He was ready to serve his man’s ultimate pleasure any way he could—and for them, after unrewarding lives apart, those ways and that pleasure had become truly without limit.

3,316 words Added Feb 2024 890 views 5.0 stars (9 votes)

Vote on this story Jump to comments Suggest tags for this story Print / PDF Share Update history More like this Symbols Unit conversion Report a problem




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