Coin-Operated Boy
Title: Coin-Operated Boy
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,256
Warnings: mild sexual content
Disclaimer: This is called "fanfiction" for a reason.
Summary: Mikey sends Gerard a lovebot in the mail.
(Author's Note: I originally wrote this in October 2011, and while I was writing it I found a pete/patrick lovebot fic by soundslikej, and in it she used the phrase "Personal Computerized Companion," which I really liked, so that phrase is TOTALLY NOT MINE, it's hers.
I also wrote this before I found out about the yobrothatssick challenge, in which mrsronweasley wrote a fic called The Way They Fly, which is also about a robot!Frank. I was actually really excited to read another robot!Frank fic, since I hadn't ever seen any My Chem fics involving the boys as robots. And of course it's by mrsronweasley WHO IS AMAZING, so. If you haven't read it yet, YOU REALLY, REALLY SHOULD.)
COIN-OPERATED BOY
“How the fuck am I supposed to turn you on?”
Gerard expels a breath impatiently, patting down the robot and running his hands over the synthetic skin in search of switches. The skin feels as real as it had looked. Soft, smooth, with just a little bit of give when he presses his thumbs into the bird tattoos on either side of the robot’s hips. He digs in with his fingernails, watching as a small crescent moon-shaped indent appears seconds after he lets up on the pressure.
Such a human reaction.
He isn’t expecting the tiny bolt of electricity that shocks him through the pads of his thumbs. Gerard jerks his arm back, hard enough that he loses his balance and falls to the floor in a heap of unwashed skin and paint-stained clothing. “Ow! Motherfucker!”
“Sorry.” a voice says from above. “They don’t tell prospective buyers that the initial DNA transfer and activation can be a little... unexpected.”
“Unexpected?” Gerard repeats, incredulous. “DNA transfer?”
“You don’t know?” The robot asks skeptically, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Gerard hunches in on himself. “Didn’t know what?”
“I belong to you now. The DNA transfer is like branding. Or imprinting, I guess, since its internal.”
“Why would you need to be branded?”
“Because, like I said, I belong to you now. I can’t very well be off performing my duties to someone who isn’t my owner.” The robot rolls his eyes. “Didn’t you read the manual?”
“...Duties?”
~*~*~
“Mikey.”
“Gerard.”
“Mikey.”
“Gerard?”
“Stop pretending you don’t know why I’m calling! You sent me a sex-robot in the mail. A smart-ass sex-robot. A smart-ass sex-robot who keeps trying to take my clothes off when he thinks I’m not expecting it.”
“That’s what he’s there for, you know? What with him being a lovebot and all.”
“That’s not the point!” Gerard sighs, exasperated. “The point is: you sent me a sex-robot.”
“I thought you might like him.” Mikey replies after a moment. “And besides, you haven’t even left your apartment in almost a year, except to shop for Hot Pockets and, like, art-related shit...”
“So you bought me a lovebot, because you think I can’t any action on my own?”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t gotten laid in how long?”
Gerard resolves to give Mikey the silent treatment for the next week. Maybe two.
~*~*~
“You know, for a guy who bought a lovebot, you’re surprisingly disinterested.” The robot, or “Frank” as he’d called himself, pouts from his position on the couch. His arms are crossed over his chest and Gerard tries not to notice how it accentuates the tattoos on his biceps.
Gerard’s eyes skitter away from their target. “I didn’t buy you. My brother bought you for me. ”
Frank rolls his eyes. “Same difference.”
“No it isn’t! It’s totally different!”
“Yeah, whatever you say.”
Then Frank is silent, and Gerard guesses that means the conversation is over.
~*~*~
“Is it because I’m short?”
Gerard startles, choking on his cereal. “What?”
“Or do you just have a thing against tattoos, or something?” Frank asks, tonguing his silver lip ring. “Because I was created to be pretty desirable, and you don’t seem to be attracted to me at all.”
“It--it’s not that you’re unattractive.” Gerard stammers in response, setting his spoon down on the table. “It’s that you’re. You know.”
“So it’s because I’m a robot.” Frank’s voice fell flat and Gerard knows that it wasn’t a question.
“No! It’s because this is like an elaborate plan by my brother to get me laid, and even though you’re, you know, hot and all, I’m--I really--you’re--it feels like a pity-fuck?”
Frank stands staring at him for a moment, hip cocked to the side as he leans against the wall. “Okay, first of all: I’m technically a PCC, or a Personal Computerized Companion, which means that I’m meant to be your friend, not just your--your lover, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. And while I was programmed to have the knowledge of how to do things to you all sexual-like, it’s the not the only thing I know how to do. I can, for example, play wicked guitar, bake a pretty delicious batch of vegan cupcakes, and educate you on all the finer points in the history of punk rock.
And second of all: I might be a robot, but I’m a little defective and have this thing called ‘free will’ that robots aren’t supposed to have, which means that despite what you seem to think, I’m not being forced to have sex with you.”
“Then why do you keep trying to take my clothes off?!” Gerard knows he sounds a bit shrilly, and that it’s not the least bit attractive, but he just can’t seem to help himself.
“Because you’re hot...?"
“Oh.”
~*~*~
“So what do they do with defective robots?” Gerard asks a few days later, munching on one of Frank’s specialty vegan cupcakes.
“If we’re returned to the original manufacturer, they--” Frank pauses, glances up from Gerard’s favorite comic--”You better be really fucking careful with that; it’s seriously one of my single most prized possessions, motherfucker. A signed fucking copy, dammit--” and then quickly back down. “They melt us down to be reused for newer, working models.”
Gerard’s heart jumps in his throat. “What? Why? I mean...”
“If a robot doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, why bother having it at all?” Frank carefully avoids Gerard’s eyes, pretends he doesn’t notice the way Gerard is trying to meet his gaze.
“Frank. Frank, come on. Look at me, okay? Like... you know I’m not going to--to get rid of you, right?”
Frank’s eyes catch his this time, and he gives Gerard a small, content smile. “I know.”
~*~*~
“Mmm, fuck, Frank...”
“Bet you’re sorry you resisted me for so long, huh?”
“Nngg, if you don’t get your mouth back on my dick right fucking now--”
“Ooh, dirty talk; I like it.”
“--seriously if you don’t, I’m going to cry or someth--ahhhh--”
~*~*~
A lot of the sensory coding in Frank’s skin is especially sensitive under certain tattoos, like the seven-legged scorpion on the right side of his neck, or right at the point where the two pistols on his lower back cross. He doesn’t know if it’s just coincidence, and another part of his defects, or if his creator made it that way on the purpose.
He doesn’t really care.
Mostly he just likes the little, whining noises Frank makes low in his throat when he touches those spots with his tongue.
~*~*~
“Mikey.”
“Gerard?”
“...”
“Gerard? You there? Look, I’m--I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think--”
“No, it’s okay--it’s--” Gerard sighs, tugging on a knotted lock of black hair. “He’s great, Mikes.”
“Really?”
“You sound kind of surprised.” He glances over to Frank, who sits across the room, focused on reading through the entirety of Gerard’s comic collection.
“I mean, I got him, like, half-price from Gabe, so I thought there might be something wrong with him,” Mikey replies and then rushes to add, “but, I mean, it sounds like you aren’t having any problems, so...”
“He came from Gabe?”
He can tell Mikey can hear his disapproving tone when he says, “Yeah, Gabe created him, but everything turned out for the best, right?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Gerard drums his fingers on knee, takes a deep breath. “Just.. thanks, Mikes.”
And then Frank looks up from across the room, and smiles at him, and Gerard doesn’t even remember to say goodbye as he hangs up the phone.
~ Fin ~
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,256
Warnings: mild sexual content
Disclaimer: This is called "fanfiction" for a reason.
Summary: Mikey sends Gerard a lovebot in the mail.
(Author's Note: I originally wrote this in October 2011, and while I was writing it I found a pete/patrick lovebot fic by soundslikej, and in it she used the phrase "Personal Computerized Companion," which I really liked, so that phrase is TOTALLY NOT MINE, it's hers.
I also wrote this before I found out about the yobrothatssick challenge, in which mrsronweasley wrote a fic called The Way They Fly, which is also about a robot!Frank. I was actually really excited to read another robot!Frank fic, since I hadn't ever seen any My Chem fics involving the boys as robots. And of course it's by mrsronweasley WHO IS AMAZING, so. If you haven't read it yet, YOU REALLY, REALLY SHOULD.)
COIN-OPERATED BOY
“How the fuck am I supposed to turn you on?”
Gerard expels a breath impatiently, patting down the robot and running his hands over the synthetic skin in search of switches. The skin feels as real as it had looked. Soft, smooth, with just a little bit of give when he presses his thumbs into the bird tattoos on either side of the robot’s hips. He digs in with his fingernails, watching as a small crescent moon-shaped indent appears seconds after he lets up on the pressure.
Such a human reaction.
He isn’t expecting the tiny bolt of electricity that shocks him through the pads of his thumbs. Gerard jerks his arm back, hard enough that he loses his balance and falls to the floor in a heap of unwashed skin and paint-stained clothing. “Ow! Motherfucker!”
“Sorry.” a voice says from above. “They don’t tell prospective buyers that the initial DNA transfer and activation can be a little... unexpected.”
“Unexpected?” Gerard repeats, incredulous. “DNA transfer?”
“You don’t know?” The robot asks skeptically, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Gerard hunches in on himself. “Didn’t know what?”
“I belong to you now. The DNA transfer is like branding. Or imprinting, I guess, since its internal.”
“Why would you need to be branded?”
“Because, like I said, I belong to you now. I can’t very well be off performing my duties to someone who isn’t my owner.” The robot rolls his eyes. “Didn’t you read the manual?”
“...Duties?”
~*~*~
“Mikey.”
“Gerard.”
“Mikey.”
“Gerard?”
“Stop pretending you don’t know why I’m calling! You sent me a sex-robot in the mail. A smart-ass sex-robot. A smart-ass sex-robot who keeps trying to take my clothes off when he thinks I’m not expecting it.”
“That’s what he’s there for, you know? What with him being a lovebot and all.”
“That’s not the point!” Gerard sighs, exasperated. “The point is: you sent me a sex-robot.”
“I thought you might like him.” Mikey replies after a moment. “And besides, you haven’t even left your apartment in almost a year, except to shop for Hot Pockets and, like, art-related shit...”
“So you bought me a lovebot, because you think I can’t any action on my own?”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t gotten laid in how long?”
Gerard resolves to give Mikey the silent treatment for the next week. Maybe two.
~*~*~
“You know, for a guy who bought a lovebot, you’re surprisingly disinterested.” The robot, or “Frank” as he’d called himself, pouts from his position on the couch. His arms are crossed over his chest and Gerard tries not to notice how it accentuates the tattoos on his biceps.
Gerard’s eyes skitter away from their target. “I didn’t buy you. My brother bought you for me. ”
Frank rolls his eyes. “Same difference.”
“No it isn’t! It’s totally different!”
“Yeah, whatever you say.”
Then Frank is silent, and Gerard guesses that means the conversation is over.
~*~*~
“Is it because I’m short?”
Gerard startles, choking on his cereal. “What?”
“Or do you just have a thing against tattoos, or something?” Frank asks, tonguing his silver lip ring. “Because I was created to be pretty desirable, and you don’t seem to be attracted to me at all.”
“It--it’s not that you’re unattractive.” Gerard stammers in response, setting his spoon down on the table. “It’s that you’re. You know.”
“So it’s because I’m a robot.” Frank’s voice fell flat and Gerard knows that it wasn’t a question.
“No! It’s because this is like an elaborate plan by my brother to get me laid, and even though you’re, you know, hot and all, I’m--I really--you’re--it feels like a pity-fuck?”
Frank stands staring at him for a moment, hip cocked to the side as he leans against the wall. “Okay, first of all: I’m technically a PCC, or a Personal Computerized Companion, which means that I’m meant to be your friend, not just your--your lover, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. And while I was programmed to have the knowledge of how to do things to you all sexual-like, it’s the not the only thing I know how to do. I can, for example, play wicked guitar, bake a pretty delicious batch of vegan cupcakes, and educate you on all the finer points in the history of punk rock.
And second of all: I might be a robot, but I’m a little defective and have this thing called ‘free will’ that robots aren’t supposed to have, which means that despite what you seem to think, I’m not being forced to have sex with you.”
“Then why do you keep trying to take my clothes off?!” Gerard knows he sounds a bit shrilly, and that it’s not the least bit attractive, but he just can’t seem to help himself.
“Because you’re hot...?"
“Oh.”
~*~*~
“So what do they do with defective robots?” Gerard asks a few days later, munching on one of Frank’s specialty vegan cupcakes.
“If we’re returned to the original manufacturer, they--” Frank pauses, glances up from Gerard’s favorite comic--”You better be really fucking careful with that; it’s seriously one of my single most prized possessions, motherfucker. A signed fucking copy, dammit--” and then quickly back down. “They melt us down to be reused for newer, working models.”
Gerard’s heart jumps in his throat. “What? Why? I mean...”
“If a robot doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, why bother having it at all?” Frank carefully avoids Gerard’s eyes, pretends he doesn’t notice the way Gerard is trying to meet his gaze.
“Frank. Frank, come on. Look at me, okay? Like... you know I’m not going to--to get rid of you, right?”
Frank’s eyes catch his this time, and he gives Gerard a small, content smile. “I know.”
~*~*~
“Mmm, fuck, Frank...”
“Bet you’re sorry you resisted me for so long, huh?”
“Nngg, if you don’t get your mouth back on my dick right fucking now--”
“Ooh, dirty talk; I like it.”
“--seriously if you don’t, I’m going to cry or someth--ahhhh--”
~*~*~
A lot of the sensory coding in Frank’s skin is especially sensitive under certain tattoos, like the seven-legged scorpion on the right side of his neck, or right at the point where the two pistols on his lower back cross. He doesn’t know if it’s just coincidence, and another part of his defects, or if his creator made it that way on the purpose.
He doesn’t really care.
Mostly he just likes the little, whining noises Frank makes low in his throat when he touches those spots with his tongue.
~*~*~
“Mikey.”
“Gerard?”
“...”
“Gerard? You there? Look, I’m--I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think--”
“No, it’s okay--it’s--” Gerard sighs, tugging on a knotted lock of black hair. “He’s great, Mikes.”
“Really?”
“You sound kind of surprised.” He glances over to Frank, who sits across the room, focused on reading through the entirety of Gerard’s comic collection.
“I mean, I got him, like, half-price from Gabe, so I thought there might be something wrong with him,” Mikey replies and then rushes to add, “but, I mean, it sounds like you aren’t having any problems, so...”
“He came from Gabe?”
He can tell Mikey can hear his disapproving tone when he says, “Yeah, Gabe created him, but everything turned out for the best, right?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Gerard drums his fingers on knee, takes a deep breath. “Just.. thanks, Mikes.”
And then Frank looks up from across the room, and smiles at him, and Gerard doesn’t even remember to say goodbye as he hangs up the phone.
~ Fin ~