Manbot by Scarlet Blackwell

Author:Scarlet Blackwell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: gay science fiction erotic romance
Publisher: Silver Publishing
Published: 2012-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

George opened the door looking dishevelled, which was unusual. Tall and well-built, he was as blond as Kavan was dark, his chiselled face strikingly attractive, but rather cold. Less human than Kavan, Gray had always thought, but Mitchell evidently didn't seem to mind. He was reclining in a T-shirt and pyjama pants on the couch with a glass of wine and ushered Gray to the chair opposite with a grin.

George didn't need asking to bring Gray a drink, but silently offered him a glass before retreating from the room.

"What's wrong?" Mitchell asked immediately. "You sounded frantic on the phone."

"I've been fucking Kavan," Gray blurted. "Or rather, to be more precise, he's been fucking me. And blowing me. And rimming me."

Mitchell choked on his wine and had a long, protracted coughing session while Gray waited patiently. "You took my advice then."

"I guess. He did all the running though. He's keen."

"That's because you're probably a fine fuck, even if you last got laid in the twentieth century. Even robots recognise that. If you got your nose out of a book for a moment, you wouldn't have to fuck your goddamned housebot."

Gray reddened. He ignored Mitchell's barb. "He kissed me, and he kind of malfunctioned after due to pleasure."

Mitchell raised a brow, looking sceptical. "Who told you it was pleasure that caused it?"

"His programmer, when he went to class."

Mitchell regarded him for a long moment.

Gray rushed on. "He came on to me. He said he wanted to be taught further pleasure. He pounces on me at night, in the morning, the moment I get home from work. He can't get enough."

Mitchell was looking decidedly sour-faced, and Gray couldn't work out why. "So what's the problem?"

"He's not… a real man."

"You don't say."

"He speaks like a fucking robot, comes out with all this emotionless shit after sex when I'm looking for…" Gray stopped. It was pointless trying to explain this to someone like Mitchell.

Mitchell clicked his tongue in irritation. "Christ, you always want more than you've got, Gray. You're never happy. You've got a hot manbot up your ass twenty-four seven and you're complaining about his fucking after-sex technique. Who gives a shit? My after-sex technique is to roll over and fart, and yours should be too. What do you want, cuddles and fucking bunny rabbits?"

Gray glared at him. "Go to hell."

Mitchell stood and started to pace, his face like thunder. "You think you've got it bad? You want to try living here." He pointed towards the kitchen, where George sat at the table. "You want to try fucking that. I'd get more life out of a fucking corpse. He just lies there and lets me use whichever hole I want. He's certainly never malfunctioned from pleasure. The only way that fucker could feel something would be if you took an axe to his goddamn head." Mitchell was breathing heavily, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Gray, frowned, deeply unsettled. As Mitchell seemed about to launch into another tirade, the cell on the couch arm vibrated.

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