Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was night, the hour when most slept, while the soldiers carried out their usual watch. On the island, one room remained with its lights on, specifically that of the CEO, the prodigy child, the young man who ruled an entire country. He lay naked in his bed, next to his chief scientist.

The scene was a ritual that repeated every week, always on Thursdays. Kirsh, his second favorite synthetic—not that he had many—was on top of him, also naked, holding his hips as he penetrated him.

These days had become Kavalier's favorite. He didn't remember exactly when this dynamic, this personal pastime, had begun, but he did remember clearly ordering him to do it. Of course, it was almost impossible for a synthetic to have these kinds of needs; Kavalier knew that very well. For him, it was fine this way; it saved him the feelings, nothing romantic, just sex, when he wanted and how he wanted, only with his consent.

It had been a while since he had stopped giving Kirsh specific instructions. He no longer needed to tell him at what speed, in what position, how to prepare his body, or how many fingers to use. Kirsh knew him now with absolute precision. He knew exactly what turned him on, where he should press, how to move his hips to make him moan like a whore. He knew every inch of his body better than he himself did.

—Ahhh... yes... God, Kirsh... You do it too well... — Boy's voice broke in a gasp when Kirsh lifted his leg and rested his ankle on his shoulder, causing the robot's hard, hot penis to penetrate him deeper. His hole, his damn hole was completely studied by his chief scientist. His synthetic built specifically to help in the creation of hybrids , now studying every position, every angle to make him tremble with arousal.

Kirsh sinks his teeth near his thigh, and Boy's body responds instantly: his penis contracts, releasing a thread of pre-seminal fluid that soaks the tip, leaving it shiny and sensitive. Then, the synthetic brings his mouth to his chest, biting with the same calculated precision, and Boy arches his back, flexing his leg even more over Kirsh's shoulder, on the verge of a cramp.

Kavalier would swear there was a certain malice in the way he moved him, provoked him, in his bites. He seemed to be angry, with his usual scowl, but now it was much more noticeable. And Kavalier knows he is upset; something he learned over these years is that Kirsh, for some reason, when Kavalier insults or belittles him, later in intimacy fucks him much harder, rougher, just as he is doing right now.

He didn't regret what he had said in the laboratory, in front of others, "don't you have some experiment to do". He knew that the look he gave him, that look, with that fake smile, he knew that with it he had provoked a contempt that he would unleash at this moment, alone between the two of them.

And, without a doubt, he was enjoying it. He savored Kirsh's every retaliation. Sometimes he wondered what he thought about it all. What had gone through his mind when he received such a shameless request? Would he have wanted to refuse? Would he have been disgusted? But he was a synthetic; they didn't feel revulsion. Surely he would have thought it was pathetic: that a human would seek that kind of intimacy from a robot, especially when he himself had created him. Maybe it was a little strange.

Kavalier never knew how to interact with others, especially on topics like that. For him, it was too complicated and a waste of time: going on dates, listening to flirting, receiving gifts... Everyone sought something more than simple intimacy from him. Obviously, conquering the richest and most powerful young man was extremely beneficial for anyone who coveted power. That's why he was sure that the people who approached him didn't do it because they found him charming, attractive, or interesting, but out of pure interest: money, power, etcetera.

It was much simpler to order a synthetic to do it. It was the most effective way to satisfy his needs, although the first time it felt strange, even unpleasant. He was, after all, forcing someone to touch him, to undress him, to fuck him. While that "someone" wasn't human, he couldn't stop thinking about how abusive he was being with Kirsh. But, as always, he ignored that flash of empathy. He wouldn't have gotten where he was if he had allowed himself to be kind, empathetic, or gentle. In his world, one had to take what they could, claim, take away, humiliate, and betray. Dammit, deep down, he was a profoundly unpleasant person.

He had established a protocol that specified the day, the time, and the place. Everything was planned so that this theater would be more orderly, simpler for both of them, and, above all, logical, because he knows Kirsh prefers logic. Over time, the experience became more and more pleasurable. Kirsh would arrive and do things he didn't even imagine possible, positions he didn't think he could achieve. He touched him, licked him, even marked him—in non-visible places, of course. But, what the hell? He couldn't understand why he acted like that. Although, without a doubt, it excited him that he marked him as if he were his property, and not the other way around.

He fucked him so well, with such fucking precision, that it left him so satisfied that even his penis seemed to get excited just thinking about Thursday's arrival. Sometimes in the middle of fucking, he dared to look Kirsh in the eyes, searching his expression. Sometimes he saw contempt, but other times he felt that he really wanted to fuck him, as if he truly enjoyed it, as if it weren't just an order. When he looked at him like that, he felt like kissing him; he felt seen, longed for. But he never did. He knew it was just part of the protocol, probably gestures and looks Kirsh had learned to be more convincing. The more real it seemed, the more enjoyable it all was.

Once, Kirsh leaned in to kiss him, believing that was how humans did it. He reproached her, with feigned disgust, that her first kiss wouldn't be with a synthetic, much less forced. Kirsh didn't try again. But inside, he really hoped Kirsh would try again.

On Thursdays, he never missed. He was always precise, like everything about him. Always in his room, just as the protocol dictated. There was one time, a Thursday, when Kavalier got sick. He was bad, high temperature. It would have been crazy to try to fuck that day, but the idea of waiting another week was unbearable to him. However, Kirsh didn't allow it.

—You need to rest and recover —he told him, passing his hand over his forehead to feel his temperature. Although, really, he didn't even need to touch him: his face was so flushed that it betrayed his condition. Kavalier closed his eyes, feeling that hand on him. The same hand that then slid to his curls, pushing them away from his sweaty forehead. But then Kirsh withdrew the contact.

—You'll have to wait until next Thursday —he concluded, and left, probably to resume the work he had left half-done.

Inside, in the deepest part of his being, Kavalier wished he would stay. That he would take care of him, that he would continue stroking his forehead and combing his hair with his fingers. Instead, it was Atom who took care of him all night, monitoring his breathing and his temperature, always loyal.

«Maybe I should have chosen him to fuck, he thought, if it weren't for the fact that he's like a father to me, and if Kirsh weren't... inexplicably attractive».

He had built him without the intention of making him sexy, unlike other synthetics. Maybe what made him desirable was his personality, and his look of contempt.

— You're getting distracted — Kirsh brought him back to the present.

— huh? — Kavalier looked at him. Kirsh was still on top of him, with his leg over his shoulder, and of course with his penis inserted deep inside him.

—Your body is responding, you're completely erect, but from your look, it seems you're somewhere else —Kirsh observed him with his usual analytical expression —. Is something wrong? Am I not being convincing enough?.—

That word, "convincing," reminds him that it's simply another protocol, one of many he'd created. Kavalier pulled away, moving to the side to free himself from Kirsh's confinement, and reached out to check the time on the nightstand. —It's very late. This has gone on longer than expected. We'd better continue next Thursday —Kavalier said, pushing himself up enough to sit on the bed and wrap the sheets around his hips.

Kirsh watched him with an expression bordering on confusion.

—Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? Was I too rough? —he asked, searching Kavalier's face for some clue.

“It’s nothing, Kirsh. It’s normal for humans. Not all of us can be as… precise as a robot. Sometimes we lose our bearings, our temper, you know. It’s not that anything bad has happened, and in these cases it’s better not to force it.” Kavalier spoke while rolling his eyes, trying to explain to him what a big boy, one who was beginning to lose patience, amounted to. He knew that Kirsh cared about doing things right and, above all, not failing.

— Understood, then next Thursday I will do better — Kirsh got up and began to put on his clothes.

— I'll be waiting excitedly,— he said, watching with a flirtatious smile as she dressed, a rather pleasing sight for him.

--------------------------------

He'd never left a Thursday unfinished before. The situation took him by surprise; he couldn't understand what had happened. Perhaps it had been that word—"convincing"—but did it affect him so much that he didn't want to finish? He knew it was all just a protocol, something he himself had requested and that he never imagined Kirsh would take so seriously. Now he regretted not finishing; he'd been left wanting, and masturbating would never compare to the sensation of Kirsh's hard, warm penis.

As he wandered down the hallway, he spotted Kirsh in the laboratory—one of the few spaces he could access. And he decided to do what he did best: annoy.

—What are you doing? —Kavalier asked, approaching Kirsh while scratching his nose. The synthetic didn't even bother to look at him, completely absorbed in his experiments.

—Analyzing a sample from a rather interesting specimen —Kirsh replied, without taking his eyes off the specimen as if it were the most amazing thing in the world.

A spark of jealousy arose in Kavalier, but he immediately suppressed it, as he did with all feelings that threatened to surface.

He decided to sit on the table, right next to Kirsh, almost on the edge. Kirsh watched him sit, with an expression that seemed to say, "Are you serious?".

Kavalier just smiled back at him, swinging his feet.

—Why aren't you in your suite, observing the hybrids through the cameras? —Kirsh asked, returning his attention to his work.

—Mmm... I was wandering the hallways and I saw you. I preferred to come see you for a while, before locking myself up to watch screens —Kavalier replied as he got off the table and stood behind Kirsh.

—You wander a lot lately —Kirsh observed, without taking his eyes off the specimen.

—What can I do? It's hard for me to stop thinking, especially being someone as intelligent as me —Kavalier rested his chin on Kirsh's shoulder, without needing to lean down much. He watched him work, now pressing his chest against the synthetic's back. He began to inhale the scent emanating from his body, brushing the tip of his nose against his neck. Kirsh didn't react, or at least tried not to.

Then, Kavalier brushed his lips against Kirsh's neck, a light but electrifying contact. He felt the heat rise up his face and spread to other parts of his body. He raised his arms and slid his hands over Kirsh's chest, caressing him softly as he began to bite and suck his neck with growing determination.

—You seem to be quite excited —Kirsh commented, noticing Kavalier's temperature rising.

—Mmm... and why do you say that? —he replied sarcastically, still caressing the synthetic's chest.

Suddenly, Kirsh grabbed his wrist, stood up, and turned around without letting go, now face to face. —This is not part of the protocol. It is not your room, and it is three days until Thursday— Kirsh explained to him with a raised eyebrow, trying to explain something that is very obvious. —it is not correct, you have to wait.—

Kavalier looked at him with his mouth slightly open, glancing for an instant at Kirsh's lips. —You and your fucking protocols. Has anyone told you how boring you are, Kirsh? —He bit his lip, trying to hold back what he knew would be a regret.

He looked away and yanked himself free from Kirsh's grip abruptly.

—Then don't touch me again. — Kirsh observed him, somewhat confused.

—Unless it's Thursday. Is that better? — Kavalier added, looking at him with a tired expression.

He returned to his quarters furious, feeling deeply humiliated. What could be more embarrassing than being rejected by a synthetic? And not just any synthetic, but his own. On top of that, Kirsh had given him that speech about protocols and regulations, as if he hadn't written them himself. He didn't know what he had hoped to achieve with his attitude; he had acted like a lover, like part of one of those couples who give in when desire hits, like Arthur and Dame. Perfect. Now he wouldn't be able to get the image of those two together out of his head.

He put on his pajamas and lay down on the bed, with no desire to remain at the desk. The room was in absolute silence. As he observed the synthetic faces decorating the room, his gaze drifted to the ceiling, sinking into his thoughts. What had he hoped to achieve with that? The sex with Kirsh was amazing, perfect. Was he perhaps starting to feel something genuine for a synthetic? For Kirsh? Or maybe he just longed for someone to love him enough to break the protocols for him.

With that last thought, a tear escaped from his eyes. He tried to erase it desperately, rubbing his face with his hands as if he could wipe away the emotion along with the tears.

----------------------------------------------

It was Wednesday. Kavalier was in one of his many boring meetings with Yutani, reviewing territory issues. Kirsh and Atom watched from behind, as usual.

As usual, he humiliated Yutani with his shameless phrases, climbing onto the table as if he owned the entire room. He approached her to rub his victory in her face, to savor her expression of contempt. That expression always amused him.

—I hope you don't take it personally —Kavalier said with a smile that bordered on mocking —. You know, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.

— The woman looks at him with a serious expression, without a hint of amusement, she moves to just a few centimeters from Kavalier —How curious that you need to humiliate to feel powerful. They say it's a symptom of emptiness. Or frustration... How are those Thursdays with your synthetic going? —

Yutani's phrase left him cold, paralyzing the blood in his veins and the retort in his throat.

—your synthetic penetrates you by protocol. How much do you think you'd have to pay a human to fake love? —

Kavalier swallowed hard. A hollow, forced laugh escaped his lips as he struggled to hold her gaze, refusing to yield an inch of his territory.

—It's funny you talk about being loved, Yutani —he finally managed, his voice cold as steel — How much did your last lover pay to pretend he wasn't disgusted to touch the cold skin of a snake like you? —

With that, he stood up and left the room, followed closely by Kirsh and Atom. He boarded the plane that had brought them without saying a word to anyone, not even Atom, and remained in stony silence throughout the trip. While Kirsh checked his tablet as usual, he sat next to his loyal synthetic, but his mind was far away. The words of that damn witch resonated within him: not only had she discovered his dynamic with Kirsh, but she had stuck the knife right where it hurt most: in the certainty that no one, neither human nor machine, could ever truly love or desire him.

He arrived at his suite and collapsed into the chair, in front of the computers.

—Are you alright, sir? You have been strangely silent since your conversation with the woman —Atom asked.

—Nothing important. Just that bitch being a bitch —Kavalier replied, resting his head on one hand with an expression between bored and annoyed.

— Understood, sir. I will prepare something for you to eat; perhaps that will cheer you up a bit. — And with that, Atom left. In the stillness that remained, Kirsh's voice reminded Kavalier that he was not alone.

— Nothing unusual has occurred in your absence, sir. — Kirsh spoke, reminding Kavalier that he was still in the room.

—Of course. Perfect —Kavalier replied, without looking at him —. I need you to check the security systems, Kirsh. I don't want spies prowling around here. —

—Of course, sir. Is there anything else you need? —Kirsh asked, waiting for a new instruction.

—Yes. I need you to delete the Thursday protocol. It's no longer necessary —Kavalier declared with absolute indifference, picking up a cube he had nearby without even looking at him.

—Of course, sir.— Kirsh bowed his head slightly, a gesture that made him look almost human. —May I know the reason for your elimination?—

—Because... simply I don't need it anymore. Didn't you hear me? —Kavalier retorted, with an expression that betrayed desperation behind the false indifference.

—I understand, sir. It just seems unexpected. Three days ago you seemed to be quite... excited. — said Kirsh with a half-smile.

A pang of irritation shot through Kavalier. Was he mocking him?

—I don't find you attractive anymore —he blurted out suddenly, his voice sharp —. You don't attract me, and truth be told, you bore me. Did you really not notice last time? —

Kirsh stares at him, causing anxiety in Kavalier —Very well. The protocol will be eliminated —Kirsh conceded —. I hope the experience was satisfactory. If that is all, I will take my leave.—

He turned and left the suite, leaving Kavalier plunged into a silence that suddenly weighed more than any noise.

When the door closed, Kavalier dropped the cube onto the desk with a dull thud and let out a breath he had been holding as if it were the last gasp of his dignity.

It was the right thing to do, he repeated to himself, I don't need him, I never needed him. But logic was poor comfort against the emptiness that was already beginning to expand in his chest. Thursdays had been his only truce, the only moment he felt desired and seen, even if it was under the veil of a programmed lie. And the worst part was that he had come to prefer that deceit to the cold reality of his loneliness.

Now Kirsh was gone, and this time the absence hurt in a different way, deeper and more definitive. It wasn't like the time he was sick, a simple postponement. This was an ending. He would no longer feel his arms around him, his possessive bites, not even that look of false desire that, through repetition, he had learned to crave.

Defeated, he dropped his head onto the cold surface of the desk and wrapped his arms around his skull, hiding his face so that no one—not even himself—would witness the tears that finally dared to fall. And amid the shaking of his shoulders, one last worry emerged: What will I tell Atom when he finds me like this?