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.

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.

Nothing.

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!

Except—

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.

Christian used to like traveling for work. The brash new all-premium-business-class airline he flew with offered the most consistently comfortable rides, the best food, and the twunkiest stewards, no doubt trained in being just flirty enough to put you at your ease. The hotel concierges remembered him wherever he went, ensuring a smooth stay whether it was a last-minute overnight salvage op in New Singapore or a weeklong hard sell in Nairobi. But it wasn’t just the travel, it was travail. For Christian good meetings with measurable outcomes were a rush and a respite. The strong grip of a deal-sealing handshake unbent him inside in a way he’d compared more than once in his thoughts to the release of an orgasm. It felt good to represent his powerful, well-respected firm, and that text to the senior partners telling them all those hours he’d spent schmoozing and finessing had paid off felt like a reason to be alive.

Now, though, Christian’s mindscape suddenly wasn’t so simple or easily mapped, and as he stared out at the spectacular nightscape view of Milan afforded by his deluxe hotel’s 75th-floor view he couldn’t help feeling both slightly resentful of his changed mentality, and embarrassed by his own ingratitude.

He was three days into a five-day mission that so far was going exceedingly well. Alessandro, the tousle-haired point man for Logistica Quantistica Mediterranea, seemed to like him—they were going running together on the virtual sports karaoke the next morning before the morning session—and half the talking points had already been agreed and worded for the final deal. Sendra Metasolutions would be earning a huge win, and his bank account would be so full of bonus dinero that he’d have to ease the pressure with a few big-ticket purchases to keep it from messily exploding. All of which made him, standing here being all wistful and fidgety because he missed his infinitely adaptable android boyfriend, feel nothing short of perverse.

It wasn’t even some high-minded insight or great epiphany opening his eyes to the vulgarity of his old wealthmongering ways. No scales had fallen away from his sight. His perspective-changer was, like the life it had complicated, tawdry as fuck. He fucking missed Viktor’s mouth and hands and his perfectly muscled tattooed body. He’d lost count of all the ways Viktor knew to give him raw, soaring, completely superficial pleasure, and he was sure there were more the android had yet to invent. All at once, getting off metaphorically on his martini-and-silk-tie bigwheeling had taken a back seat to getting off literally with his android fucktoy, the man who was, in so many words, made for him.

Christian grimaced. He was being hard on himself. Pleasure was pleasure. As a human being, he was just as built to enjoy it and give it as Viktor was. And he wasn’t being fair to Viktor, either. After only three months he was certain Viktor meant more to him than all the physical gratification they gave each other. He believed, too, without question, that Viktor’s feelings for him, whatever they were, were just as real as his for Viktor.

Thinking of him as a fucktoy had been stupidly misguided. Not only was Viktor no mere mechanical plaything, he might be more than an android. If there were such a thing as love between machine and man, Viktor, with his tender brown eyes and knowing smile, would be the one to find it.

That said… after three days away, Christian knew that what he needed most urgently wasn’t hearts and violins and romantic folderol. His well-built body clenched and flushed, every inch of his classically-developed physique feeling his desire deep within. It wasn’t his soul but his id that needed slaking. In that moment, what Christian craved more than anything on earth was a dicking deep enough and hard enough to nail his prostate to the fuckling wall.

He brushed his knuckles lightly along the stiff erection pushing out the soft dynacotton of his sleep pants. It squeezed reflexively, making the even larger one sidling next to it do the same. Of course, his supremely adaptable and very kinky artificial lover with the easily detachable parts had sent along one of his impressive, tireless monster cocks to keep him company. Two, actually—the second was in his luggage, still snoozing in a cozy nest of balled socks and boxer briefs. This one, though, had stayed with him, and the novel experience of having Viktor’s huge half-hard cock right there in his pants, snuggling next to his own, during those long meetings and equally endless well-lubricated dinners with the LQM team had been titillating as hell. It had also been an increasingly necessary distraction: the more he failed to find his old fulfillment in the rituals of buddy-buddy capitalism, the more the press of Viktor’s warm, detached phallus calmed and centered him.

This was ridiculous. How was he so horny? He was still himself. He still looked the same. The light in the bedroom was on low, so that out here in the main room of the suite there was faint illumination, enough for him to see a gossamer image of his shirtless form overlain on the glimmering Italian metropolis below. He looked hot, in every sense. He could almost feel his horniness. If fucking a windowpane reflection were a thing, he would be considering it, he needed to cum so bad.

But it wasn’t his own amazing body that he wanted. His tastes had narrowed to a single, artificial man.

He was panting now. He had to make love with Viktor and cum with him, now. Doing it remotely with just Victor’s cock in his hand and a live video feed on his tablet like he had the last two nights was not enough. He needed Viktor’s strong arms around him and his cocktongue in his mouth and his fingers spreading Christian’s ass. He needed his heat and his warmth and his cum—god, he needed to feel Viktor’s hot spunk spraying ceaselessly across his firm pecs and leaking, still warm, down the cuts of his cum-whore abs.

So hot. He almost rode a shuddering orgasm just thinking about it, but he forced it down. He didn’t want to cum alone. He couldn’t.

The scale of his lust made him a little awed, in a way. Had his level of degeneracy descended even further? Had his libido swollen and thickened since meeting Viktor, in the same way he was trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed his cock was getting slowly but steadily bigger? He’d never been this thirsty for carnal pleasure and release.

But then, he’d never been with a man who turned every crank in him (and gave him new ones to spin) the way Viktor had, in spades, from the moment he’d opened those sweet, intense eyes and stared all the way into his heart… and past it, to take up permanent residence in his balls.

Forcing his fists away from his straining cock (and the equally rigid and needy guest cock next to it), he instead reached for the phone in his other pocket and called Viktor.

Christian paused in what he was doing to glance down at the phone facing up at him on the coffee table. “Are you sure this will work?” he asked doubtfully.

Viktor smiled up at him, his trim, perfect beard framing the handsome, brown face that was, and was not, an echo of his half-forgotten crush from across the hall. “I know what I’m doing,” the android purred, his voice as always layered with the promise of sex and comfort. “Just like you, Christian. We know ourselves. What we both have yet to learn are each other’s deepest secrets, and there’s plenty of time for that.”

Christian smirked. He was lighter of heart now that he had his Viktor to talk to, even if it was only over a video link. “Big talk for someone asking me to shove his detached footlong dick up a robot’s ass,” he teased.

Viktor’s bright brown eyes glinted. “I always talk big,” he said.

Christian turned a skeptical eye to the placid, 6-foot-tall humaniform rental standing naked in front of him. The embarrassment of ordering it from the hotel’s room service still twisted in Christian’s belly. However common it was to make use of the in-house sex rentals, and however stone-faced the bellman had been when he’d brought the thing up to him (receiving a hefty e-tip in return), Christian was more than chagrined at the ignominy of having a fuckbot in his bedroom like he was some sort of hack traveling salesman. Without Viktor’s urging he would never have done anything like this.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Next it’ll be strip clubs and lap dances.” Viktor chuckled softly over the miles between them.

The humaniform was serviceable enough, Christian conceded. Like all uncustomized male personal androids, it was shaped like Ryan Gosling circa Barbie (the original, not the remakes). Christian had studied the ancient worldwide cross-promotion in school (a company called Ma Tell, if he remembered his android history classes correctly, had brokered the deal to coincide with the 50-year anniversary rerelease of the cinema classic) and had always thought it was a bad deal all around. For one thing, in the absence of any kind of androdiversity at the mundane, unaugmented level, the setup had resulted in that particular face and body being so common, they were barely noticeable now. Like steel and glass skyscrapers, or your standard fist-sized strawberries. Not only couldn’t anyone imagine service droids looking like anyone else (and so the deal had never been overridden with a less outdated celeb), it had become the baseline for minimally handsome, forcing standards of male beauty even higher in an age of gene massage and android escalation. His own parents had shelled out a lot of money to make sure he turned out several tiers sexier than an everyday sex droid like this one, an investment that had long since paid off for all concerned.

More aggravating than the blandly attractive, mass-produced exterior, though, was the fact that it was clearly a much more primitive and rudimentary machine than Viktor. The familiar blue eyes were blank and disinterested, awaiting instruction. The tanned, well-defined arms hung limply from firmly sculpted shoulders, showing none of the coiled strength and promise of sensory overload packed into the ones his lover possessed.

The construct before him was simply a tool, unlike his wily, seductive, often-unpredictable bedmade. Even the detached erection Christian currently had clasped tightly in his right hand (the sole relic of Viktor anywhere in this hemisphere—not counting the one nestling in his underwear) had more personality in it than this thing did.

“Are you sure you can’t just fly out here?” he whined after a moment, eyeing the Goslingbot with a frown. “Like, right now?”

Christian could hear the eye-roll without looking. “You know androids can’t fly unaccompanied. Remember? The Emergency Anti-Artificial Intelligence Act of 2026?”

“EAAIA,” Christian grumbled. “Those were weird times.”

“You’re stalling,” Viktor coaxed. “I can feel your arousal from here. Stick it in already!”

Christian sighed. Addressing the humaniform he said, “Turn around.” It did so. “Bend over.” The Goslingbot smiled a plastic smile of anticipation. Closing its eyes, the fuckbot grabbed its knees and then went uncannily still, waiting.

Like a trained hoplite soldier, Christian considered his target for a moment, then shoved his rigid dirk of a dork underhand, straight into the always tight, prelubricated ass. The Goslingbot grunted. “Thank you sir,” it said politely. Then it seemed to glitch. “Thank y-thank y-thank—”

Christian took a step back. “It’s not going to explode, is it?” he asked, alarmed.

Over the video link, Viktor snorted. “Relax. It’s resetting,” he said. “It has a lot to recalibrate.“

Christian huffed, watching the android twitch. “I—” he started to say, then stopped as a dark-honey color bloomed in waves over the pallid skin. as though he were being infused with billowing swaths of pure melanin. Muscles swelled before his eyes, especially across the upper back and shoulders and through his ass and legs, which seemed to lengthen, too, as he watched. Tattoo ink crawled across him, swirling and twisting into familiar patterns.

Suddenly the android opened his eyes and looked back at him, piercing Christian with Viktor’s intense light brown gaze. Christian gasped. “Here we go,” Viktor said from the phone, low and guttural. He sounded as though he were anticipating, or maybe sensing, what the android was experiencing, and was getting off on the transformation from thousands of miles away.

All at once the cock Christian had shoved into the android’s ass shot inside with a thmp and vanished. Then, without prompting or permission, the android turned and straightened to face him.

The features were still refining at the minute level, as were a thousand other details, like the shape of the sculpted pecs below, the contours of a swelling, rapidly hardening cock. But the face was unquestionably, delightfully Viktor’s. The lively, admiring eyes were the same ones he had been staring into all these weeks, and the amazing, deliciously muscled, poised and ready body was the same living, thriving form of his impossibly adaptable partner. Even the scent was Viktor’s, and it seemed to draw him forward, eating the space between them until they were in each other’s arms.

“Is it really you?” Christian whispered roughly. His cock, which had flagged during the embarrassment with renting and receiving the generic room-service fuckbot, was now huge and hard—as was, again without request or permission, the thirteen-inch, wrist-thick tool currently shoving affectionately at his belly.

For an answer, the Viktorified android smiled and looked down at his chest, which dutifully started to swell upward and divide into two sets of heart-breakingly beautiful pecs, each with two aesthetically swole muscle arms to a side. Smiling down at Christian now, the android proceeded to wrap all eight powerful arms around Christian, whose own perfectly crafted form shivered with anticipation.

“What do you think?” the newly formed Viktor retorted, speaking in flawless unison with the Viktor on the phone.

Then the artificial man holding him spoke on his own, his lips close to Christian’s ear. “I’m Viktor,” he said softly. “I’m here to help with… anything you need.”

Christian almost came as he remembered the first time he’d heard those words, and the night and days of spunk and pleasure that had followed. He pulled back, looking searchingly into achingly recognizable brown eyes. Then he smiled. “Shall I take the tour, then?” he asked with a wink.

Viktor smiled warmly and moved in for a kiss that tasted so very familiar. He moaned as Viktor’s long tongues slid into his mouth and began to thicken and stiffen, already tasting hints of the cum his mouth and throat would soon be filling with.

The Viktor on the phone smiled and disconnected, leaving them to find their pleasure as the kiss deepened, the two well-made men rutting against each other in ecstatic reunion.

“What do you mean I have to buy him?” Christian barked at the sour-faced front desk clerk, annoyed that such a simple thing as hotel check-out might turn into a delay that would keep him from getting home as quickly as the forces of the universe allowed.

The clerk tilted her head in slight admonishment, and Christian shut his mouth, chastened. The clerk (her nametag read “Antonia”) didn’t deserve his attitude. Nor was she actually all that sour-faced; in fact she was quite pretty, in the leonine way that had become fashionable 20 years back.

Still, though, he’d agreed to a rental.

Antonia tapped a few keys, then looked up at him, a stern the-customer-is-not-always-right expression on her slightly fuzzy face. “The end-user terms of the rental clearly state—” She glanced down briefly and read. “—‘No modifications or upgrades shall be installed on or applied to any rental humaniform. Any such alternations will result in recompense to the Hotel for the full value of the humaniform.’”

Antonia looked up again and added, “Was the wording not clear, sir?”

Christian glanced over at the fully Viktorified humaniform, who was smiling wryly back at Christian, watching the exchange. His bearded expression was fond and a little indulgent, he thought, like a boyfriend whose thoughts were running along the lines of “My guy is a mess sometimes and I love him for it.” The fact that this Viktor was dressed in a simple white tee, boots, and jeans, a stark contrast to Christian’s high-end, exquisitely tailored corporate drag, and at the moment possessed only the baseline complement of two arms and two legs, only seemed to emphasize the sheer potency of his sexuality and inhuman allure. People passing through the lobby were staring at him, and as Christian watched one young guy headed for the front doors diverted unconsciously toward Viktor with an infatuated stare before shaking his head and looking away so he could continue his journey.

Christian turned back toward Antonia, gesturing triumphantly toward Viktor. “I improved him,” he said. “See?”

Antonia wasn’t having it. “‘Any such alterations—’” she began again.

Christian put a hand to his temple. “Okay, okay,” he said, stopping her. He’d got his fill of legalese the day before while they fine-tuning the formal agreement between LQM and Sendra.

He let out a breath and gave Antonia a contrite moue. “Put it on my private bankapp,” he said. “Not the corporate.”

Antonia smiled briefly and began typing. “Thank you for staying with us,” she said chirpily as she finished, and Christian’s phone dinged.

He pulled it out and felt his lips quirk at the very expensive notification. Opening his travel app, he added another seat for the flight, then stowed his phone and met Viktor’s gaze. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he drank him in with a crooked smile of serendipitous anticipation.

“Ready to go home and meet your brother?” he asked.

Viktor gave him a smirk that was nothing short of salacious. “I can’t wait,” he purred. The promise of endless ravishing that underlay those words had Christian shivering, and before he knew it he’d turning and was sprinting for the door and their car to the skyport, his personal android lover matching him step for step and grin for grin.

Geoff’s expression was stern but fond, in that paternal way he had that said he wouldn’t even be having this conversation if Christian were anyone else. “You’re not,” he said calmly, “taking your personal fuckbot to the platform with you.”

Christian tried not to bristle. Geoff, the lean and handsome CEO of Sendra Metasolutions, had spent fifteen years demonstrating his bona fides as the best possible boss, always having Christian’s back in any risky initiative, turbulent negotiation, or internal squabble. In turn, his loyalty meant that Geoff was now securely in control of one of the most stable and influential corporations on Earth. Christian trusted Geoff well past any other human, but their private little chat over rocks tumblers of extrapremium single-cask kelpwhiskey in quiet skyview corner of the lush Club Omniscate’s VIP room was surfacing a quirk in his old friend’s constitution that Christian tried not to think about. Robots had been ubiquitous and demonstrably loyal for so long that they were taken for granted as a part of the urban, suburban, and rural population. The law in some polities even afforded them basic protections against abuse, torture, and unjustified termination. Even so, there were quite a lot of people, good, bad, and indifferent, who tacitly maintained a latent, unshakable mistrust of any kind of android, and from past remarks and behavior Christian knew Geoff was one of them.

“Android,” Christian corrected him, marshaling his patience. Actually it should be androids, plural, he thought, seeing as there were two Viktors now thanks to that moment of needy desperation in a hotel room in Milan two months back; but he didn’t need his rainmaker mojo to know that pushing the concept of twin smirking Viktors at this particular delicate juncture would not help his case. It wasn’t helping Christian, either, and he shifted the hand in his lap slightly to better obscure the uncomfortable swelling in his crotch. “Humaniform android.”

Geoff scoffed, eyeing Christian with a sidelong smile that managed to communicate the complete opposite of the copacetic ego-reinforcing sympatico Christian was famous for fostering in any discourse. In the light of the candle globe on the little table, he looked dashing and worldly as he lifted the half-full tumbler of amber liquid. “Honestly, Christian, that’s even worse,” he muttered, taking a swig of the potent liquor and shaking his head. He glanced over at Christian with something like pain, like his number-one junior partner and unspoken protégé had just admitted not only that he fucked goats but that he was considering moving into the paddock and doing it full time. “For Pete’s sake, buddy, go find a real boyfriend. You need it.”

I have a real boyfriend, Christian thought crossly, seething inwardly at Geoff’s intolerance. He was too good at what he did to let any of his true feelings show, however—and really, how could Geoff understand? Viktor was unique, or near enough. Five months ago, before Viktor, he might have been a hard sell, too. Instead, he tacked, approaching from another direction. “Just think of him as cargo,” he persisted. “I have a generous luggage allowance. We could—”

Geoff leaned toward him. “There’s an international treaty,” he said firmly. “The security protection clause involving all space platforms specifically embargoes any personal robotics, A.I., or other intelligent nonhuman construct. Spouses, yes. Children, yes. Fuckbots, no. The company can’t sustain the risk or the blowback.”

Christian wanted to make dark, growly noises of constrained umbrage in the back of his throat. He was starting to think of “nonhuman” as needlessly binary. He’d never even noticed the word before, but now it had a deeply personal meaning.

Unfortunately, the stakes for this trip were inordinately high. The client ask was for Christian to be embedded in-house for six months at their main facility, which happened to be in the bustling orbital city known as Artificial Asteroidal Platform “F”, an international microplanetoid geosynchronously positioned 36 thousand miles above the Free City of Bogatá. The move would have to be soon, too—the start date was flexible but he had to be on-site and ready to go within a two-month bracketed period that started the following week.

It was a challenging opportunity. His windfall, and the company’s, would be huge. Transformatively huge. Normally he loved this sort of gig, or he had, anyway. Now he was wondering if he could even do it at all. Traveling for work was one thing, but there was no way he could live without Viktor for six months, and he was 85 percent sure Viktor—both Viktors—felt the same way. He hadn’t said the words yet, but they were there, in his throat, and what he saw in the Viktors’ eyes every damn day convinced him he was not alone in what he felt.

Plus, he was horny as fuck these days. He was still chubbed just from thinking about the two of them smirking identically at him. Six months felt very close to chopping it off and being done with fucking altogether.

“Geoff, c’mon,” he pleaded. “It’s six months. If I’m going to be on FAAP for half a year, at least let me—”

“Don’t call it that.”

“I can’t go up there alone, man.”

Geoff gave him a level look. “You’ll have a whole team.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Seb’s on the team,” Geoff suggested, still stone-faced. “He’s hot. And into you, or so I’ve heard. He’d be more than willing to help—”

“For fuck’s sake, Geoff.” He fell back in his seat, looking away. The window to his right showed a magnificent nightscape view of the sprawling city. He picked out the Orion Towers, a trio of hundred-story skyscrapers situated in a calm oasis of parks and smaller buildings off to the northeast, toward the dark smudge of the distant mountains. Halfway up one of those towers his bearded, inked, impossibly sexy lovers waited patiently for him, ready to make him feel pleasures that very few had ever experienced.

Criminy. If he got any more turned on he was going to have to fuck off to the men’s room and get himself off. Or he could just go home. He was suddenly sick of talking about this. Negotiation and concession were things he enticed from others, not himself. He didn’t need this particular bonus, anyway. He was done. “You should send someone else,” he said decisively.

He felt Geoff stare at him for a long moment. If the man thought this was a ploy, he’d find out how wrong he was soon enough.

“The stipulation is for you, Christian,” Geoff said tonelessly. “You agreed to this and cosigned the contract months ago. No one else can go.”

“Too bad.”

Another beat. He could almost taste the other man’s angry bafflement at Christian’s willingness to throw away so much for nothing more than what, to him, amounted to a custom-automated sex toy. He might as well be saying he wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t bring his favorite jock strap.

“The stipulation is for you,” Geoff repeated in a low, disappointed, prickly monotone that Geoff had only previously heard directed at low-level client execs who had fucked up really, really badly. “If we do not send you, the deal tanks. Aside from the loss of profits, breaking the contract unilaterally also incurs an immediate billion-credit default penalty for Sendra.”

Christian looked up sharply at that. Shit, a billion-credit penalty was half the value of the contract itself.

Geoff’s stare was flinty and without sympathy. “In light of such damage to the company, we would be forced to restructure internally,” he continued coldly, “including the renegotiation of all junior partner contracts.”

Christian held his gaze for a long moment, then lowered his head and stared into his empty whiskey glass. “Understood,” he said finally, his gaze still fixed on the glass.

He waited. The ambiguity of his response had to be eating at the other man, but Christian was unwilling to say more, and Geoff was as much of a pro as he was.

Christian didn’t have to wait long. Geoff picked up his glass and tossed back the rest of his whisky with a clatter of ice, then the tumbler was back on the table with a smack and his old friend and mentor was gone, leaving him alone in the corner alcove.

That had been a warning, Christian thought as he stared out at the sprawl of city lights straining toward the horizon… and it shocked him how little he cared. He wished he had a flamboyant bestie like all the scrappy independent women had in those romantic comedies from way back, just so someone could snap their fingers and announce, “Boy, you got it bad.”

He snorted, smiling as he finally got to adjust himself under the table. Fuck, he really was going to have to take care of his arousal, and now. There was no chance he’d last as long as it would take him to get home even by luxury airdart. And as much as he was willing to give up for his Viktors, there was no way on Earth he was going to mess up his best black dynacotton designer dress trousers with a day’s worth of high-potency cum, because that stuff did not come out.

Chagrined but resolute, he ditched the table and headed for the men’s room, trying not to look like someone who needed to get there as urgently as he did.

Part of the problem with his current state of arousal, Christian thought with wry amusement as he took up a position at the further of the two urinals in the empty VIP men’s room and started undoing his flies, was the strange situation he had going on “down there.” During the Milan trip he’d gotten into the habit of carrying around one of Viktor’s “spare” cocks in his snug, junk-hugging briefs, and he’d liked the feel of his lover’s detached, half-again-larger sausage snuggling against his own considerable meat so much it had become an invariable habit. He’d quickly gotten used to feeling Viktor’s cock chub along with his own whenever he got the slightest bit aroused, thinking about this lover who redefined the concept of exotically sexy, enticing and stimulating Christian in ways literally no one else could. Of course, Viktor’s warm, thick cock curled, around his heavy balls and swelling dramatically against his when he got turned on, only deepened his need, forcing him to find a private space to drive himself into release wherever and whenever. Often it was several times a day now, when he was working or schmoozing clients away from Viktor himself.

Of course Viktor’s cock came with his every time, spitting arcs of hot, wet cum in tandem with Christian’s own, creating doubled arcs of spunk across sinks and toilet bowls and the odd mirror that Christian found so incredibly hot he’d started sneaking photos and sending them to his men—first stills of the doubled cum trails, then shots of his cock and Viktor’s hard in his hand next to each other, then finally whole videos of the stroke and release. It was so stimulating that the videos were never very long. Only with the Viktors themselves did he take his time and spin out the pleasure for hours and even days.

He’d started thinking semiconsciously of the cocks in his briefs as a pair, his and Viktor’s doing everything together; and the cocks seemed to agree, responding to his arousal, climax, and release in total unison. He thought they’d even started looking alike. In his head he knew his own cock was not as long or as hefty as Viktor’s, not to mention the difference in coloring and the way Viktor’s distractingly sexy map of purple veins was rather more visible than his own. Together in his hand, though, in the throes of intoxicating arousal, the differences had seemed minimal.

He smiled down at the two fat pricks swelling to full hardness in his hand, his pulse thumping fast and insistent in his ears as he felt his delicious orgasm starting to build. As the cocks strained to full and weeping erection he started stroking, slowly—then stopped and looked down again.

The two cocks were the same size. His cock, and Viktor’s cock, were both swollen to a measurement he knew to be thirteen full inches long and seven fat inches around, the size Viktor’s cock had been all along. If it weren’t for the fact that the one on the left was a few shades paler than the other and still a notch less veiny than its counterpart, he might have thought he’d accidentally been carrying around two of Viktor’s pleasure-loving phalluses; but the one on the left had to be his own fabled tool, somehow grown to match the one Viktor had donated to the cause.

Panting, he stared at the throbbing cocks, unsure whether to be alarmed alongside feeling even more feverishly aroused. Squeezing the cocks in his strong left hand, he realized he felt both of them equally. It had been sneaking along in that direction, but Christian had been diligently ignoring the increasing extent to which he was feeling the pleasures of his guest cock, putting it down to the power of suggestion, the intensity of his arousal, and maybe something more esoteric, like a hitherto unrevealed capacity for hypnotic suggestion in his lover. As he started stroking now, however, keeping his pace languid, there was no hiding the fact that he was fully experiencing the tactile pleasure of both cocks as they thrilled in their hardness and reveled in the brush of fingers and palms and their fellow crotch-mate.

Still stroking, he tried to look closer at the base of the darker cock, nestled in his rusty, well-trimmed public hair. In the soft light of the high-class washroom it was hard to see the seam between his skin and the cock he’d been carrying with him, but he was starting to think there might not be anything to see. Since Milan it had been snug against his groin, thanks to a bit of adhesive ooze that Viktor had produced from some tiny internal reservoir he didn’t much want to know about, allowing him to jerk and make love and be sucked off with both cocks as well as carrying both of the hefty sausages around with him in between. He’d still been able to pull Viktor’s cock off with a bit of effort and a quarter-turn twist, and had a couple times, each time with the ooze being reproduced and replaced; but he hadn’t done so recently.

Reluctantly, he stopped stroking. Letting the mammoth erections rest on his palm, he gripped the darker cock on the right with his other hand and gave it a cautious tug. He sucked in a breath. He’d felt that, not as a pull on the skin of his groin but as a stress on his internal plumbing. A shiver ran down his spine and he pulled again, a little harder, adding the quarter-turn twist.

He winced. That had almost hurt, like he was trying to yank off his own cock with brute force.

Upset, confused, and extremely turned on, he started stroking again with one hand while he pulled out his phone and dialed Viktor with the other.

Both of his lovers appeared on the screen. Though only visible from the waist up it was clear they were naked in bed and stroking each other just out of frame. “Hey,” they said together, their expressions knowing and sultry. Christian wanted desperately to feel those soft beards against his cheeks. He stroked faster, directing the camera down toward the cock in his pumping hand.

“What’s going on with this?” he asked.

The Viktors smirked. “Looks like you got a little stimulus,” one teased. “Perving on Seb again?”

Christian made a note to ask why everyone kept bringing up Seb. He couldn’t even remember the guy’s face, though to be honest at this moment his brain was full of nothing but Viktor. “I was thinking of those fucking smirks, actually,” he growled, feeling the orgasm build as he blurred his hand. It was hard to think clearly. “I mean… the size…” he huffed. “The… plumbing…”

On the screen, the Viktors smiled wider. “It’s simple,” the Viktor on the right said. “Your ‘guest’ has decided to move in.”

Startled pleasure spangled through Christian, pushing him close to the edge. “De… decided?” he repeated.

“Well, not sentiently,” the other Viktor scoffed. Their motions below the frame were increasing to match Christian’s, and a spot of sweat dampened the hair at both of their temples. Viktor never sweat, except during sex, one of a thousand things he loved about him. “The ‘ooze’, as you call it, included a bit of nanoprogramming that allowed the integration of cock to host if there was enough, hm, appreciation.”

“Oh, there’s been… appreciation,” Christian gasped. “This thing is a part of me now? Do you… do you still feel it too?”

The Viktors’ eyes burned through the phone and they gave their cockiest grins. “Of course.”

“Shit,” Christian barked, and then he was blasting two punishing streams of cum all over the porcelain back of the urinal. The Viktors on the phone were moaning and cumming, too, and when Viktor saw their magnificent, beautiful chests and tight, yummy abs being painted with double streams of cum as well he came even harder. The searing, brain-melting orgasm lasted a solid minute or more before he finally tailed off, slumping his shoulder inelegantly against the tiled wall to his left.

Remembering his phone he lifted it up and swapped cameras so they could see him. “So,” he gasped, “You felt that?”

“Fuck yeah,” they said, smiling at them as they lay in his bed, faced and torsos dark and flushed and their chests, abs, and even cheeks striped with cum.

He smiled. He wanted to ask about the increased size of his own prick, but that could wait. The nanoorganics that allowed the alteration of Viktor’s very humanlike flesh could obviously affect human flesh, too. Given the potential world-changing impact of such a feature, he wondered if anyone besides Viktor knew it was even possible to alter human bodies with humaniform nanotech.

He shook his head, putting all that off for later. Instead he asked, “Why? I mean, I know what I get out of it—not that I’m hurting for pleasure as it is,” he said with a grin. “What do you guys get out of it?”

“We get to be with you,” one of the Viktors said, as if it were obvious. “We get to feel what you feel,” the other added. “Even when you’re not with us, we’re with you,” they finished in unison.

“Fuck, Viktor,” Christian moaned. He was ready to go again, as though he hadn’t just filled the urinal with his copious release.

He fixed his gaze on both of theirs in turn. “Do… not… move.”

The Viktors smirked again and Christian bit back another moan. “See you soon,” they sang, and the connection ended.

With considerable difficulty, Christian wrestled his recalcitrant thirteen-inch erections behind his belt, then buttoned his untucked shirt over them for the ride home. Stepping away from the urinal, he listened to it flush as he washed his gooey hands. This was something else, but he was too caught up in desperate lust to wallow in awe at the progressive, wholly unanticipated changes in his life. There would be plenty of time for that later when he was relaxing in bed with his men, the three of them blissed out and utterly content.

Before leaving he checked the urinal again, only to find it still partially gunked with some of his generously supplied semen. Evidently it didn’t have sufficient rinse-power to properly handle his full double-barreled release in one go. Why should it? He was the weirdo here. Shaking his head with a crooked, half-embarrassed smile, he pressed the manual flush button for a second try, dried his hands, and headed for the door just as another customer entered, a slim, blond willowy dancer type in full tux.

Dancer boy immediately wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of potent, hard-to-flush jizz and gave Christian a look that said “Seriously? Are you kidding me?”, as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud.

Christian was half-tempted to apologize, either for the odor or the mess, but he didn’t bother. Instead, he hurried past him with a small smile and got out of the washroom, heading for the upstairs landing pads and the airtaxis that would take him home. Christian had somewhere else he needed to be, as soon as humanly possible.

“This is not going to work,” the Viktor on Christian’s left muttered with uncharacteristic unease as they waited with the other hundred-odd passengers for the ferry’s airlock to open onto the stadium-sized, glass-encased entrydome of the bustling, decade-old orbital city.

The science/commerce ubersatellite’s official designation was Artificial Asteroidal Platform “F”, in fact the sixth of ten such orbital colonies silently circling Earth’s equator at present. A waggish habit had developed among those who lived there or interacted with it of referring to it by the rearranged acronym Christian had used during his fraught skyview conversation with Geoff six weeks previous, though Christian had to wonder how many of them were actually familiar with the archaic term for self-pleasure the joke was a reference to.

The Viktor on his right said nothing, only nodding his agreement.

Christian tightened his lips. Though his own insides were evincing similar trepidation—did humaniform stomachs flutter like a human’s did? Would it merely be reported to the central processing core, or actually physically manifested for maximum verisimilitude?—he kept his cool through long practice. The Viktors’s muscular bodies were a steadying physical presence next to him, and the arousal they spurred in every cell just from being near him was, for him, profoundly comforting. His cocks might be soft at the moment, crammed into his snug extra-hung-men’s briefs—and he had to think of them as his cocks, fully integrated into him as they were and equal sluts for pleasure, though one wasn’t originally his and still shared its sensual output with the Viktors as well as himself—but their heavy, potently alert awareness of the three of them inches apart grounded him.

He was this Christian now: a being far more sexual, sensual, and insatiable than he had been before Viktor, and though the original impetus had not been of his making there wasn’t a glimmer of a moment he wasn’t thrilled that this was who he was and that this was the life he lived.

“It’ll work,” he said quietly, cautious of the mostly self-preoccupied crowd of passengers gathered in a tight, still, murmuring mass around them, a clay army circulating stray, meaningless remarks as it awaited its release. “Relax,” he added, hoping they’d take the instruction seriously. He’d never seen his androids quite so edgy, and to Christian the prospect of unexpected behavior from them, particularly in the public space of Platform “F” they were about to enter, was more unnerving than the shakiness of their little ruse.

The marriage itself had been easy enough. Sure, android marriage was illegal, but the Viktors presented as human and usually no one was looking for flaws in their peopleness, if there were any. Filing for a triune marriage with two men who looked like twins was a bigger potential sticking-point: polyandrous unions might be legal, but incestuous ones required special permissions and extra paperwork that would incur lots of questions and prying eyes they could not afford.

Viktor had been willing to experiment with his body-management subroutines, which he normally used to give himself sexy extras to drive Christian crazy in bed, to see if he could rearrange his face enough to look like a different person; but Christian was too used to the faces they had, and too secretly turned on at having two identical lovers, to want him to risk not being able to revert to baseline.

Instead, they’d ordered a spare head for the second Viktor, the one he’d acquired by misadventure in Milan, paying extra to have it specially customized from the Ryan Gosling default (which would have instantly given away his android status) to exactly match a randomly chosen late-20th-century square-jawed heartthrob from the catalog named James Van Der Something. A simple head swap for an afternoon, some easily forged credentials for the two humaniforms, and the private marriage could take place without a hitch. Though he had no family, and only a few new friends now that he was more confident and less self-isolating, Christian had made sure to invite his closest colleagues within the business community, Geoff included, to witness and celebrate his union to Viktor (who looked like himself, i.e., a steamier version of his sultrily alluring original neighbor Paulo) and “James” (who looked like the Van Der Something guy).

It had gone well. For one heart-pounding moment after the ceremony with the records commissar, a grinning Geoff had briefly cornered him and razzed him about which one was his secret fuckbot boyfriend. Then it turned out he was only kidding. It helped immensely that from the beginning Christian had very meticulously refrained from telling anyone anything about Viktor. His admission that he had a humaniform sex partner at all during the conversation at Club Omniscate conversation had been the only time the barest sliver of the truth had passed his lips; even then, he’d deliberately stopped short of mentioning his lover’s name or anything about him.

More importantly, pure human-equivalent androids were not generally thought to be possible, much less acquirable; they weren’t in the public consciousness, even in the mass media where ambitious or villanous androids were always obvious and routinely subordinated to human heroes. Viktor himself was unique, if “unique” could be used to describe someone who had essentially replicated himself.

More to the point, Viktor’s fine-tuned advanced behavioral and morphological software meant that he passed for human more perfectly than any previous android model. Even the Van Der Head, originally a little too symmetric and brashly perfect out of the box, became more subtle and realistic as Viktor settled into it and worked his mojo on it. Viktor himself put his enhanced ability to pass as human down to his unshakable motivation to ensure Christian’s happiness, and Christian wouldn’t be surprised if determination were as critical a factor as his physical and mental constitution. It was in humans, after all.

(They still had the Van Der Head, too, safely stowed in a thumbprint-sealed plastipine box in their luggage. The fact that the Viktors could still control it even after swapping it back out after the wedding seemed to augur… new potentialities for their collective play. They hadn’t gone there quite yet, though just before departing Earth they’d started letting the Van Der Head watch as they ate breakfast, exercised, and made passionate three-way monkey love.)

Now, after the Viktors had guided him into becoming a new man and a part of a triune connectiction… after they’d gone through all of this rigamarole to get the three of them onto FAAP together and were standing literally at the airlock that would open onto their new adventure together… his two fun, smart, always-focused husbands were suddenly getting the jitters? This was some new kind of ironic fuckery.

“We’re designed to emulate humans, not be humans,” one of the Viktors said abruptly. His tone was so low and intimate it took Christian a second to realize it was forming directly in his ear canal. He glanced over at the Viktor who had spoken, but his piercing brown eyes were pointed straight ahead at the sandy-beige, gently concave surface of the airlock, his lips pursed and nonmoving.

Christian’s stomach fluttered again, this time with a kind of weirded-out excitement, and his cocks squeezed in his shorts as well. Christian was aware of the changes that had been made to him via repeated infusion of Viktor’s nanotech, especially since he’d joined with one of Viktor’s big, randy cocks. He figured this was probably by design, and he appreciated it, but it did mean that as he turned his thoughts to modes of communication he found that he had the same capacity to mentally incite the nanotech embedded in the internal workings of their ears as they did with him.

“This has not been done before,” the other said, and Christian turned his head quickly enough to see his lips were still, too.

“Neither has android telepathy, you sneaky apple-fuckers!” Christian grumped at both of them without speaking. “Warn a guy, for Pete’s sake!”

Triumphantly, Christian saw both Viktors’ lips quirk into a slight smile. He was about to “telespeak” again when the overhead speakers announced the airlock doors were about to open.

The anxious energy of the muttering crowd heightened, and Christian reached out and gave his husbands’ hands a quick squeeze. Then the airlock dilated wide, and the crowd surged forward, eager to escape the sky-ferry’s relatively close confines and go do whatever they had come to FAAP to do. Christian felt only a slight internal jolt as his body adjusted from the ship’s comparatively weak artificial grav to the more effective gravity engines of the microplanetoid, then thought no more about it.

By previous arrangement, Christian and the Viktors moved in the direction of Pillar A-232 and the tight cluster of coffee and beverage shops to be found there, the crowd gradually dissipating in all directions as they went. A stream of luggage carts disgorged from the cargo airlock further aft on the ferry, the cattle drive being herded by a mix of humans and Goslingbots in FAAP livery. Somewhere in there was their stuff, all of which would find its way to their luxury digs in the quieter, residential part of the orbital city favored by families and married folk. He smiled, thumbing his wedding ring, and wondered if the Van Der Head was collecting any useful info on its side trip for the Viktors to catch up with later. Goslingbots could be incorrigible gossips.

Turning to face his men, he took his husbands’ hands and looked between them urgently. “You’re approaching this all wrong,” he said, aloud this time. “This is an adventure, a lark. This is a challenge we set ourselves, not to see if we could do it but to see how much fun we could have making it happen.”

He thought the Viktors might interject and voice their concerns, but he realized they had already so and trusted Christian to have heard. His heart squeezed with all the feelings he had so much trouble expressing. “Yes, there’s risk. There was risk in you coming to me. There was risk in adapting a second you, in Milan. There was risk in being with me, risk in marrying me… risk in loving me.” His throat seemed to close and he cleared it with an effort. “Loving me… the way I love you.” Fuck, how had he never said the words? They hadn’t had to, and yet, here he was, eyes smarting, heart aching as he gripped his husbands’ hands a little too hard. Both Viktors had damp eyes, too, something he had never seen before, and like every unexpected nuance of his lovers it kind of turned him on.

The Viktors might have sensed this, as their eyes seemed to glint with ardor even as each released a single tear, the path they streaked on the two cheeks not quite matching in a way that was, again, slightly exciting.

“I do love you, Christian,” the Viktor on his left said. The fact that he said “I love you,” not “we love you”—fuck, he was going to cry about this for real later.

“I love you too,” the other said, his sultry brown gaze just as earnest, amused, and aroused as the other’s.

Christian had a lump in his throat, so he used telespeak to say, “Fuck, I can’t believe we had to go to another planet to do that.” The Viktors grinned.

“Aww,” said a voice to his left, and Christian turned his head to see a well-built, narrow-waisted, faintly Mediterrean-looking young man with long, wispy caramel-dyed hair and bright blue eyes that, as Christian knew, loved nothing more than to trace every sexy contour on the body of a good-looking man—and Christian, head to toe, was a very good-looking man.

Christian reluctantly let go of his lovers’ hands and turned to the newcomer. “Hey, Seb,” he said, shaking hands with his longtime subordinate and problem-solver. “Thanks for coming out to meet us and getting a jump-start on things up here.”

“No prob,” Seb said, “So these are the hubbies?”

“Yep,” Christian said, not bothering to introduce them as they shook hands in turn, muttering the required “nice to meet yous” to each other. As far as Seb and the rest of the team knew they were called Viktor and John, but no one would be able to tell them apart anyway. The unspoken assumption would be that they were identical twins, that Christian had a properly approved fraternal marriage, and that it was safer not to try to use one name or the other. Human nature sometimes solved its own problems.

Seb was definitely looking over the Viktors very closely, though his motivation was obviously prurient rather than skeptical from the way he lingered on their jeans and especially their very packed crotches. His husbands smirked and let Seb ogle them, though their gazes were a little more playfully hostile.

“This is Seb, then,” one of the Viktors purred in his ear, glaring amusedly at the sexy young would-be Lothario, and Christian smiled.

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous,” he said silently. One of the Viktors snorted very quietly.

Seb was still talking to them about the agenda for the afternoon. “—show you to your new digs,” he was saying, “and then later, boss, we can tour the site.”

Christian gestured. “Lead the way.”

The four of them moved off, toward the archway leading from the entrydome into the main city and the transport nodes to be found there. As they went, the Viktors couldn’t resist teasing him via telespeak. “Oh, this is going to be fun, you’re right,” one said. “He’s so into you, Christian,” the other added. “I think he’s into all of us,” the first suggested.

“Oh, fuck you guys,” he said, feeling the heat of arousal steal through him, his cocks straining at his pants.

“Yes please,” the Viktors said, and the three of them snorted in laughter as they entered the asteroidal city.

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