Customer Service - NC-17
This is...a bit of a different perspective on the Wesbot situation :p Let me know what you think.
Customer Service
rated: NC-17
disclaimer: AtS belongs to Joss Whedon, et. al.
--
They didn't think he knew, but he did.
Perhaps if they'd gone to someone outside the firm, or done the work themselves, he wouldn't. The firm had done a very good job on him, indeed.
"Spread a little farther for me, Wes... Yeah, like that. Bloody hell, that feels good...Yeah..."
Whenever Spike took him, he knew it would be quick and unpolished. Spike fumbled with his clothing and babbled often. Spike liked a little foreplay, a fast finish, and a long cuddle afterward. During which Spike held him for hours, saying everything and nothing.
Angel always seemed anxious to send him away.
"You like that, Wes? Like being down on there on your knees for me? Harder. Show me you like it."
Angel touched him with certainty, and spoke sure. As if the words had been rehearsed in Angel's head. Angel whispered confessions into their kiss as if feeding them to him with lips and tongue.
Angel didn't think he understood what the words meant, but he did.
He understood quite a bit.
"Get dressed and get out."
Angel could work towards a climax for hours, and often chose to work him there as well. Afterward, Angel's voice became cold and hard and he winced at the simple-
"Okay, Brow Boy, back off. I get a turn with it now."
Sometimes he got fast and sloppy, and slow and certain, all at once. When Angel and Spike couldn't decide who would have him that night, or needed something real after putting up a facade all day.
"No way. It's mine tonight. You'll get your turn with it tomorrow."
"The bloody hell I will!"
They never asked him his preference. They didn't seem to think he had one. Which was just as well. He wasn't given choices, so preferences meant little to him.
"God, that's fucking hot, Wes. Don't stop. Don't- Ow! What was that for?"
"Don't call him Wes." Angel paused just long enough to tell Spike this, then slowly began to move again, hands bruising tight on his hips. Spike's fingers flexed in his hair.
"Like you don't do it, too! Wes! Come for me, Wes. We- OW! Stop hitting me! Every time you lean over you push him into me."
"Like you'd complain."
He gasped as Angel thrust into him particularly sharp. Spike's pat on his head reminded him not to neglect the cock between his lips for long.
"'s gotta breathe, don't he?"
"No, Spike. He doesn't."
"Oh. Yeah."
Honestly, he didn't mind any of that. It was a part of his programming to enjoy serving those who required his service.
He wasn't programmed not to care about the rest.
The times when Angel forgot to think of him as an it, and the shame - Angel's - that came when Angel remembered... The conversations Spike carried on with the man he'd been modeled after... and the shift of Spike's eyes when Spike realized he wasn't him...
He knew they'd intended him to fulfill a need they thought impossible to satisfy otherwise. But he couldn't say either of them had ever achieved satisfaction with him. No matter how obedient, or willing, or creative he'd been programmed to be, Angel and Spike needed something he had yet to give. They needed not to need him.
With a little research... He decided not needing him was just another service he could provide.
He bided his time. And one day he slipped away. And into Wesley's office.
At first, Wesley didn't look up from his desk. "Can I..."
Then he stopped.
"...help...you?" he managed, as his doppleganger took a seat.
The robot smiled and folded his hands in his lap. "Hello, Wesley. There's something you and I need to talk about."
[ end. ]
And you know what we need around here? Wesbot icons! :p Any suggestions for what pics I should use?
Customer Service
rated: NC-17
disclaimer: AtS belongs to Joss Whedon, et. al.
--
They didn't think he knew, but he did.
Perhaps if they'd gone to someone outside the firm, or done the work themselves, he wouldn't. The firm had done a very good job on him, indeed.
"Spread a little farther for me, Wes... Yeah, like that. Bloody hell, that feels good...Yeah..."
Whenever Spike took him, he knew it would be quick and unpolished. Spike fumbled with his clothing and babbled often. Spike liked a little foreplay, a fast finish, and a long cuddle afterward. During which Spike held him for hours, saying everything and nothing.
Angel always seemed anxious to send him away.
"You like that, Wes? Like being down on there on your knees for me? Harder. Show me you like it."
Angel touched him with certainty, and spoke sure. As if the words had been rehearsed in Angel's head. Angel whispered confessions into their kiss as if feeding them to him with lips and tongue.
Angel didn't think he understood what the words meant, but he did.
He understood quite a bit.
"Get dressed and get out."
Angel could work towards a climax for hours, and often chose to work him there as well. Afterward, Angel's voice became cold and hard and he winced at the simple-
"Okay, Brow Boy, back off. I get a turn with it now."
Sometimes he got fast and sloppy, and slow and certain, all at once. When Angel and Spike couldn't decide who would have him that night, or needed something real after putting up a facade all day.
"No way. It's mine tonight. You'll get your turn with it tomorrow."
"The bloody hell I will!"
They never asked him his preference. They didn't seem to think he had one. Which was just as well. He wasn't given choices, so preferences meant little to him.
"God, that's fucking hot, Wes. Don't stop. Don't- Ow! What was that for?"
"Don't call him Wes." Angel paused just long enough to tell Spike this, then slowly began to move again, hands bruising tight on his hips. Spike's fingers flexed in his hair.
"Like you don't do it, too! Wes! Come for me, Wes. We- OW! Stop hitting me! Every time you lean over you push him into me."
"Like you'd complain."
He gasped as Angel thrust into him particularly sharp. Spike's pat on his head reminded him not to neglect the cock between his lips for long.
"'s gotta breathe, don't he?"
"No, Spike. He doesn't."
"Oh. Yeah."
Honestly, he didn't mind any of that. It was a part of his programming to enjoy serving those who required his service.
He wasn't programmed not to care about the rest.
The times when Angel forgot to think of him as an it, and the shame - Angel's - that came when Angel remembered... The conversations Spike carried on with the man he'd been modeled after... and the shift of Spike's eyes when Spike realized he wasn't him...
He knew they'd intended him to fulfill a need they thought impossible to satisfy otherwise. But he couldn't say either of them had ever achieved satisfaction with him. No matter how obedient, or willing, or creative he'd been programmed to be, Angel and Spike needed something he had yet to give. They needed not to need him.
With a little research... He decided not needing him was just another service he could provide.
He bided his time. And one day he slipped away. And into Wesley's office.
At first, Wesley didn't look up from his desk. "Can I..."
Then he stopped.
"...help...you?" he managed, as his doppleganger took a seat.
The robot smiled and folded his hands in his lap. "Hello, Wesley. There's something you and I need to talk about."
[ end. ]
And you know what we need around here? Wesbot icons! :p Any suggestions for what pics I should use?