NOT just A ROBOT
shipping meme
There's always a right tool for the job, be it as simple as a hammer for a nail or on up to the much, much more complex. In this, the near future, the new tool for the abstract, post-modern job is no longer from the humble tool box - it's robots. Robots have taken over most sectors, such as assembly, law enforcement, and even health care. Things run so much smoother when they're automated. Yet the most impressive factor is that robots have just recently begun to enter a sector previously believed to require human touch: the personal sector. From personal assistants to robo bodyguards to pleasurebots, most anyone who's anyone has a personal robot these days. Of course, humanity being the narcissistic charmers we are, all "companion" sector robots are made in our own beautiful image, or close to it.
But you know this. You have a personal robot, after all...or you are one.
Whether owner or robot, it's important to remember one key rule: robots, no matter how human they appear, cannot feel emotions. Any appearances thereof are programming in the AI.
Robots certainly, absolutely, cannot fall in love. Again, any appearances thereof are programming in the AI. If that's not the case, and "love" still seems present...
...well, a toll that no longer functions correctly may not be right for the job.
HOW TO PLAY ➟
- Comment with your character, preference, and whether you want to play a human or a robot.
- Reply to others.
- Use the RNG to choose a prompt or pick one yourself.
OWNER ➟
- Long Time Owner → You and your robot are a well-oiled machine, no pun intended.
- New Purchase → Congratulations, you have your brand new personal bot!
- Second Hand → Someone else owned this robot before you, but it can't be too damaged. There's no way you could afford a brand new one, anyway.
- For Science! → Your interests in robots are purely scientific. No matter how yours begins to act towards you, honest!
- Rescue → Whether you took them from the dump or from a bad owner, you brought this robot from the jaws of deletion.
- Reluctant → You never wanted a robot, but you've got one thrust on you anyway.
- Cruel → They're just a fancy computer, so you'll treat them however you like.
- See the Humanity → Even if you know it's all machinery and programming, you can't help but see the human side of your robot. They shouldn't have to be a servant.
- What's Real and What's Not → The lines are beginning to blur between real people and their emotions and your robot.
- Incompatible → You can't be with a machine, either romantically or sexually. You're simply not compatible.
- Too Engrossed → They say you've created a fantasy world. You're forgetting reality, or choosing to ignore it.
- Don't Care → You won't listen to what the others say; you know how you feel.
- Have to Pull Away → The close relationship you had with your robot has to be put aside for your own good.
- Live a Normal Life → As much as you can, you and your robot live like a normal couple.
- Bad End → Your robot is taken away, reprogrammed, or destroyed.
ROBOT ➟
- The Perfect Robot → You know what you and exactly what you were made to do. You will not stray.
- More Human than Human → Whoever programmed you made you to be just like a human.
- Conflicted → There is no way you could have what they call "feelings." But what is this stirring in your circuitry?
- Confused → Why do people treat you like a robot? You're a living thing, damn it!
- Damaged → Somehow, you've been corrupted. You're a blank slate and have to be cared for, though it should be the opposite. Or it could be that you're showing erratic behavior that no robot should...
- Shown Kindness → When you're treated kindly by a human, you are unsure how to process it. It makes you feel - content.
- No Longer Just a Program → Your "love" and "affection" may have been shades and imitations at first, but that's not the case any longer.
- Obsolete Model → You know you're old. Will you be forced to leave your master's side?
- Jealousy → A robot should not feel jealous. Still, you envy those close to your master.
- Job is Personal → You were programmed to protect or to serve, though you also do it because you...care
- Second Chance → Your old master tossed you aside and now you are wary. But you've been given another chance instead of being used for scrap.
- Rogue → There is no way you will be tied to the oppressive system. You refuse to serve the Living Things. Somehow, though, you've become aligned with one.
- One of a Kind → There are no other robots like you, and perhaps you are intended for a sinister fate. Rather than face your true duty, you have escaped to take refuge with a human.
- Specialty → You were created specifically for this one special person.
- Reprogrammed → Because of previous defects, you were taken back to factory settings before. However, that treacherous virus, "love," is bubbling back up.
- Android → You can't just forget the part of you that was - still is - organic.
- Learn to Be Human → Despite the odds and the prejudices you both will face, you have decided to live as a free, living person with the one you care for most.
- Bad End → You're to be junked, impacted, wiped clean, or taken away from your owner.
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bakerstreet2018-08-13 08:08 pm
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Jesus Christ.
And then Tony's talking about an endorsement and his hand drops, head shaking, eyeing Tony like he's lost his damn mind but in the best possible way. ]
No- no, no, no way, come on- you're outta your damn mind.
[ But imagine it though.
A beat, and then: ]
He's gotta get his own flavor.
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[ His own flavor? His own flavor. Tony squints into the middle distance, suddenly somber as he tries to consider what would Captain America taste like.
Besides Freedom.
And salt. ]
Apple cinnamon?
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[ He agrees wryly. As American as apple pie, as the saying goes. Not that he's had any one-on-one time with Steve Rogers, but he's seen enough recordings, press releases, internal notes, and Tony's own summation of the man to at least zing out a quip about him. ]
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That- no- that's not all fair he's- he's alright. Salty but- [ reasons being a chip works. Still- Bruce should meet them. That should be a thing, meeting the Avengers.
When he's ready. ]
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His eyes flicker over Tony's expression like he's trying to memorize it, to map it, to burn it into his long-term data storage. Normally he'd acknowledge this as staring, avert his eyes, settle his gaze somewhere else and just smile softly to himself.
Now, though, there's sci-fi playing absently on one of the screens before them, the world is soft, he slumps a little farther into the couch, and gets lost for a second, just... looking. ]
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Other than why the fuck The gelatinous blob oozing down the hall is considered a credible threat but, whatever, B movies are B movies for a reason.
He's...loose in a way he normally isn't. Lighter. Comfortable. His eyes halflidded, his voice lower, throatier, gestures aimless and fluid when he gestures to a particularly egregious bit of pseudoscience on the screen.
A lack of response has him tipping his head up to Bruce, staring back. Eyes honey gold and lashes thick, skin flushed with amusement- the earlier staring didn't register because he's so accustomed to being observed almost every hour of every day so- it's not weird? To him. ]
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This time, he doesn't look away. He's not sure if it's because his mind is softened and pushed into a forced sort of calm or if it's just... that Tony's eyes have never really been quite this close, save for that afternoon under the grating. To be fair, he'd mostly adamantly averted them that day, kept them locked on the ceiling or the floor to keep from going crazy. No, this is the first time he can remember seeing them up this close, with a hitch in Tony's brow and a gentleness at his edges. They change color, he thinks. From a distance they're dark, deep, brown and sometimes almost black, but up this close... With this sort of light... they're almost hazel, or-
Maybe it's the nuanced details that keep him there.
Maybe it's that his mind goes blank just for a bit, long enough to forget manners. Long enough to go on a stoned tangent and imagine what it might be like if he were to shift forward. Daydreaming, for a second, a long and vivid thing compressed into a brief moment in a way that only weed can make you do. He disappears down a rabbit hole in his mind, an alternate reality where he leans in and clears the distance between them. Can almost feel it, too, because he's got a photographic memory and an advanced learning system, because he's got an imagination that can create scenes from packets of data, and the only thing that's missing is the physical sensory input.
He could find out.
It would be easy.
It would be.
He lists gently, absently forward. ]
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He neglected to consider what it'd look like when Bruce began to emote. When broad shoulders hunched in and thick wrists flexed while he worked intuitively with the holograms Tony threw at him. The way his brow furrows, the stupidly distracting habit of touching his own lips. The way everything goes soft and easy when he laughs, when he's amused- or the slow wound tension when his hate-boner for Von Doom kicked up, when protective frustrations for Tony, even against some of his habits, left him scowling and curt.
The chassis- nothing special when it was hollow. Bruce? Bruce is what made the body beautiful and that's a dangerous thought. One that's slow to come and slower still to sink in, he ought to be worried about the proximity but-
Passive in a way he usually isn't, Tony tips his chin up to meet Bruce's gaze. Waits- listing close is, he could be losing balance, could have a point to make and until he knows? Until he's certain he- he'll wait it out. Let Bruce decide what this is. Where this goes.
Because fuck if he has any idea. ]
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There is only the gentle beating of the thing that isn't a heart in his chest, but that acts like one.
The world slows down to something half-speed. Slow motion. His body charters a course forward, and it's only when he can feel Tony's breath against his lips does the nature of this reality set in.
He's already here. There's no taking back the obviousness of his intentions, no pretending like he hadn't made it this far, so even if he were to stop it'd be just as damning as if he'd- if he'd just finished it out.
So he sees it through and, after hovering at that inch of space for only a second or two that feel like small eternities, he closes the distance.
Presses his lips to Tony's like a soft and tentative question. ]
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Both are- impossible. Choice is why he made Bruce, why he gave him a body, agonized over whether he adjusted well or not. Gave him space. Gave him access to anything and everything he could possibly want to learn and grow and live. To exist.
Which he is, very much in Tony's space and- part of him does want. Does wonder. And he's deep enough in the comforting lassitude that he doesn't think about potential consent, about how he's the only person Bruce has had extended contact with, doesn't think about the kiss on the cheek or how happy he'd been talking to Betty. Doesn't think about how Bruce has zero practical experience and that matters and how he's probably like a teenager with a crush and he's the worst sort of first run around but-
None of that drifts through his mind. Not a one. All he thinks or feels is a detatched sort of resignation, like this was bound to happen. Which, arrogant, sure but-
They click. Their mouths slot together and Bruce's lips are so gentle, so hesitant that he has to lean up enough to make the kiss firm. Give him an answer, hand smoothing up to curl in hair he hasn't touched since day one of activation. ]
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So this is what it feels like. He commits it to memory instantly, a searing and hyper-real feeling. His eyes are closed, he doesn't remember closing them so he doesn't know what it looks like, but he thinks that hardly matters. He thinks it's... it's the feeling that makes this.
And then Tony leans up to firm the kiss, and it pulls one thick, solid thump from his chest. An artificial heart that skipped a beat and made up for it with intensity on the next. In it's wake is the spread of something he can only compare to swallowing sugar, a gritty sweet burn in his chest, a warmth. A want. A hand in his hair.
His body moves like he's made of molasses, slow and deliberate, to slide his palm up Tony's chest and rest it somewhere along the flat of his right pec, thumb just grazing the unforgiving metal of the reactor in his chest. He uses it as an anchor point to lean in further, just a bit, to add to the sureness of his mouth. To tilt his head just an inch, to move his lips because it feels like every little shift there sparks something low and deep in him.]
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The slow brush of plush lips, the way the world slows to a crawl so he can feel every drag. Every breath. Every thrum of his heart in the mangled meat of his chest tangled up with a palpable reminder that he is wanted, if not cherished. Desired if not understood but-
Bruce understands him. Gets him. Cares the way a friend does and maybe- maybe more than that?
He could analyze the implications or just roll with it. Enjoy the ride. Right now enjoying the ride feels so much better with every list and lean, the warmth of the weight on his chest, his breath hitching between them and- it's Bruce. The reactor's something of a sore point, most people don't reach for it, don't touch it but...it's Bruce. That makes it safe makes it okay. Makes it alright for him to tangle his fingers in Bruce's hair and sigh- all warm, lazy bliss.
Joint set aside he lets his other hand wander, smoothing over Bruce's back, his shoulders. Tugging him in. Making himself open in invitation because this? This is- he wants to taste more of this. It's a heady thing, a cerebral connection, and they've had that. This? This is ten times better than his fling last week. ]
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He chases it, still slow but perhaps a little more deliberate. Chases it by ducking to carefully test Tony's lower lip with the softest trace of tongue. It's not intrusive, it's not demanding, it's searching for something. Testing a hypothesis.
Granted, he's having a hard time focusing on it with the softness of hands along is back, along his shoulders. This, too, is new- the intimacy of a touch that lingers, and not in the same way that Tony occasionally settles at his side or clasps his shoulder. This is a gentle and affectionate affair, searching in equal measure. If it weren't so comfortable it might be overwhelming; if he weren't stoned it might be terrifying. As it stands he's got just enough of a block on his inhibitions that it becomes lazy and dreamlike, unhurried and thorough.
And if his hand slides up Tony's chest to curl around his shoulder, well... that's sort of a selfish thing. ]
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Kissing's an art and Tony? Has more than enough experience to consider himself something of a master. His nails dig in slightly at Bruce's scalp, lips parting in blatant invitation. Dip in deeper, take more, he's into it. Here for it. Taking back, a little, as his hand slides down to the small of Bruce's back and gently tugs, causing his shoulder to tighten, flex. Closer would be better. Bruce is solid, he knows he's solid but feeling that weight is more comforting, more grounding than he'd expected and he wants-
Wants to be pinned down to the sofa by it. Wants to be wrapped up in that hollow created by Bruce hunching inward. It's a lazy kind of wanting, the sort that settles in the blood like honey when you know the good thing's coming in time. His tongue glides out, dragging against Bruce's top lip, flicking at the seam. Asking, as much as Bruce had been asking with that first press of lips. ]
no subject
He learns something new about himself: fingernails gently scratching along his scalp make him breathe in a quiet, sharp inhale at the feeling. Lazy electricity melts down his spine and a flush takes hold of him making his skin feel taut. Whether it's that or it's the gentle tug that gets him shifting, he honestly couldn't say. Move he does, though, with a guiding hand on Tony's shoulder pressing him gently down and back onto the couch. He follows in tandem, slow and easy and without ever breaking away from the kiss, a knee settling somewhere just to the left of Tony's legs and against the back of the couch.
How can he possibly break away with Tony's lips parting and inviting an entirely new level of exploration? He accepts the invitation easily, with the gentle opening of lips still sealed against the world but parted to allow access, encouraging it, requesting it. ]
no subject
Body chemistry changes when you shove a generator in your torso. Who knew?
The hand at the small of Bruce's back shifts as it becomes less of a grounding touch and more of Tony's arm just, holding him. Supporting him, coaxing him close to come in and curl around him. To lean his weight down and make out on the sofa like teenagers or something, it doesn't matter.
Tongue against tongue and that same sigh twists out of him again, long and low and easy huffed through his nose as he finally gets a taste. ]
no subject
The rest of him settles carefully, tentatively, not his whole weight like he's afraid of pressing down too hard on the man beneath him, afraid he's fragile or he'll find himself short of breath. Achingly careful and deliberate in every single piece of this, not even the slightest loss in control.
For someone accidentally kissing someone else, it sure as hell seems like he has every single scrap of his shit together.
This is a research mission, this is a new planet to explore, this is uncharted territory and he's always been knowledgeably adventurous. The way he holds himself atop that left elbow leaves space along their right side, leaves him hovering in places where his body doesn't press to Tony's, leaves him an expanse to travel with his right hand, and travel it he does.
It snakes down from that grip along Tony's shoulder, snakes down until it finds the hem of Tony's shirt where it's ridden up an inch or two from his sweats. Fingertips trace that exposed skin, dipping in just an inch to feel the warmth of his stomach, teasingly gentle and endlessly patient, always asking permission without saying a fucking word.
Not that he could, with the beautifully metallic taste of strawberries and copper chasing his tongue. ]
no subject
Oh.
Oh.-
He drops his head back enough, hand coming around to cup Bruce's jaw as he stares up at him, wide eye'd and wondering. ]
This is why you were so tense? [ Like it matters, but it doesn't. Not when he can lean back in and seal their lips again. Tease his tongue alongside Bruce's and breathe him in. Shiver his way through the trailing of his fingers and maybe get a little bit of his own back.
Sure, he's built this body. Laid out every nerve strand by strand, implanted the hair, painted freckles into the skin- but it's something new and precious under his calloused palms as he skims his hand under Bruce's shirt in turn, resting the flat of his palm against the small of his back. The shape is known, the motions familiar but the warmth? Unique to Bruce, who's exploration already sidles up against a razor thin scar. Something old from the earlier days of flying around, and he's littered with them. Some are sensitive, some are ticklish, but this one? Prompts a shiver. A subtle arch upward into the contact, into the bulk and warmth of Bruce's body. Asking with a touch and there's not a single thing Tony thinks he could deny him.
Not now. Not like this. ]
no subject
Not Tony seeing through him in complete hindsight, summoning up sudden conclusions on things Bruce had done a marvelous job at suppressing. There's no denying the slight widening of his eyes, the way they duck down and to the left like he's thinking about skirting the truth.
Tony doesn't give him the time. He blows Bruce's expectations away with a hand on his jaw and lips sliding along his again, and something thrums through him. Manifests in the form of a rush of air from his nose, not a sigh so much as an exaltation. Yeah, that's precisely why he was so tense, thank you.
Up until now, he's done a marvelous job at controlling his body. It lasts right up 'til Tony's hands, rough and soft at the same time somehow, slide up the bare skin of his back. Heat pools low in him in a response he can't quite keep from happening anymore, the shift of his hips back and away is almost an apology.
But he doesn't stop. He can't. Couldn't if you paid him, because his own fingers find dips and ridges, fine lines that make Tony shift beneath him and shiver. He could write a book about this, every piece of this. He could publish an entire series, like J.K. Rowling. Seven books at nine hundred pages each. He's got the muse, the motivation, the desire. ]
no subject
Don't laugh. He absolutely cannot laugh- but he doesn't let that just be, either. It is what it is and dealing with it is part of the human condition. So it's rude, probably, to try and tug him back in.
He's a guy, he doesn't mind, these things happen, it's not the current point or highlight of the moment. Tasting his lips is. Learning the shape of his smile from point blank range until he does have to pull away to suck in a slow breath, blinking dreamy eyes up at Bruce. He gets it, now. Gets everything of the awkwardness and he could feel a way about it. Should probably try to talk about it.
But this feels too good to interrupt with conversation.
His head lolls back against the cushions as a soft groan twists out of him and, he could be a more active participant. Might be in a moment but- letting Bruce explore, letting him dig in and find what works, what doesn't? That's worth enjoying. Heat blooms under his skin, has nis nails digging in slightly, his breath shivering out because even the tumble last week wasn't like this. Wasn't this warm, wasn't this slow. Wasn't something he could savor and with little more than a kiss and a touch, Bruce has pushed that other person so far out of his mind Tony will be lucky if he can remember their name ever again. ]
no subject
Tony tugs him back in and, reluctantly he goes. Settles himself back down again preoccupies his mind feeling the taut lines of Tony's stomach, feeling around his ribs, palming around his side and sliding fingertips beneath him to his shoulderblade.
He separates their mouths for a moment but not to end things, not to make another quick observation, just to make a noise that runs through him like hot water. ]
You took your shirt off. [ He admits finally, quietly, speaking in soft murmurs for the first time since this began, fingers still idly trailing. ] And it... I don't know, it turns out I have a... thing.
no subject
To say the least, it's fucking distracting. Enough to make him want to escalate but- slow. Lazy and slow and taking their time and there's a comfortable pace going he'd like to continue. Still. He can't help but hitch his hips a little, arching into every pass of Bruce's hand like a cat, only to go still at that sound. He's pretty sure he didn't give Bruce the ability to make sounds like liquid sex.
Mostly sure. ]
Oh? [ He tips his head to the side, hand slipping up to brush his ridiculous fucking curls out of his face. ] What, um. What kind of thing?
no subject
Tony himself is probably one of those people. Meanwhile, Bruce has touched himself exactly one time and that is the full extent of his sexual prowess. It's. Fucking unpleasant to think about. He does not like being ignorant on a subject, it goes against his primary drive.
A thumb strokes carefully along the dip Tony's shoulderblade makes as it disappears into his back, that few inches before his spine. ]
Like a- kind of a... shoulders. Thing. [ He admits, with just the smallest detectable trace of embarrassment lacing the words. Humility, maybe, or... apology, for eyeing him up when they had a job to do. ] So yes. I was an asshole, and I acted like a dick. I'm sorry. But- in my defense... I mean, it was... a lot.
[ A lot of neck and shoulders and back and crawling around side by side shimmying down his body, pressed in tight closed quarters breathing against his jaw.
If Tony can put himself back in the moment with this new context in mind he might have a little understanding for Bruce's struggle that day. ]
no subject
Oh. A shoulders thing.
That does paint the entire second half of their adventure in an entirely new light and, again, he doesn't laugh. Because he knows that level of shame just waiting to reach out and drag you down, knows what it's like to want and not understand how to go about it. The sulky near teenager act sort of fits, then and-
Shit Bruce is effectively a teenager in his social development.
If only he wasn't too stoned to give a fuck.
Tony leans up, pressing his lips to Bruce's sweet and slow, gentle as anything. The barest drag of tongue, the lightest scrape of teeth, new variables in the overall equation that is kissing. New flavors to try, new tools in the arsenal. ] Hey.
[ He murmurs, cradling Bruce's stupidly square jaw in his hand, thumb smoothing across his cheek. ] It's fine. You've never been- and it's confusing for us too, when we're not used to it.
[ A beat, and he tilts his head to the side. ] Should I, um. Should I take my shirt off for you now, or would you rather it stay on?
no subject
[ He starts, taken aback by the offer, faltering between a resounding yes and the want to make sure he's not... crossing a line, or god forbid making Tony feel pressured to cater to him through feelings of obligation or pity, or-
He shifts back, falters, slips his hand from behind Tony's back to trace his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. ]
You really... don't have to do anything you don't... want to do, it's not like-
[ Not a requirement, not like he's not having... a good time like it is.
And if the shirt comes off he can't guarantee any real semblance of respectability.
A traitorous single-minded part of his anatomy is inclined to be more enthusiastic about the idea, but he's a rational man damn it. ]
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