Gordon blinks at the screen.
Benry Benry wants to have Oraljob sex with Gordon Freeman. Do you wish to proceed?
The laugh that erupts from him is high-pitched and violent, leaving him gasping for air. Benrey cackles in his ear. “I— I— Oh my God,” Gordon wheezes, doubling over. “You want to have what with me?! We can’t— We can’t show that on a Christian channel! We’re going to get so banned—“
“do you want to—“ Benrey can’t finish the sentence, gripped in the most intense laughter Gordon’s ever heard from him. “do you want to have oraljob?”
Gordon clutches his desk, weeping and howling.
When he calms down from his sudden fit of hysterics, he clicks “No”, to a chorus of disappointment from the chat. “I know, I know,” he says, sympathetic, “but seriously, Papa’s gotta pay the bills. Gotta keep it clean. PG-13, that’s my motto.”
“then why’s your dick out,” Benrey wheezes.
“Very funny—“
He stops in his tracks when he sees that his dick is, in fact, out. His Sims dick, that is. Gordon slams his ‘commercial break’ button so hard that he misses a few keys and takes a screenshot.
“Whoa! Put that thing away, man!”
“nice,” Benrey says appreciatively.
“Bear with me, folks,” Gordon begs. “We’re having some, uh, technical difficulties.” Why did his dick pop out? He said no! (In fairness, his Sim is decidedly not having oraljob sex. He’s eating a sandwich. With his penis out.) He hurriedly clicks through menus upon menus, trying to find a way to put his clothes back on, but none of the options do what he wants. “Why can’t I put away my stupid dick?!”
“hey, look. you just went up a level in nudism,” Benrey snorts.
Gordon buries his head in his hands, but can’t stop himself from an anguished laugh. “Okay! Give me fifteen, everybody. Go smoke a cigarette— or, or vape, I know the kids are big on the Juul these days, I don’t care, I’m not your dad.”
With that, he ends the stream.
“What kind of fucking mods did you download on my computer?” he asks, exasperated. “I feel like I need to give it a bath.”
“normal ones.”
“Uh-huh. You know my dick’s not even rendering correctly, right?”
“huh?” Benrey zooms in on it. “huh. it’s, uh. checkered.”
[some sort of connecting thought]
“I don’t even look like that, anyway,” Gordon mutters, brushing him off.
Benrey peers down at him. The webcam light turns on, drawing Gordon’s eye. “huh. i dunno. i can see the, uh… the resemblance.” He enunciates the last word carefully.
“Did you just turn on my webcam? Are we streaming right now?” Gordon sits upright, hastily checking on his streaming software. Still offline. Not that it would have mattered - he’s panned away to look at a stray dog in his yard - but it’s the principle of the thing.
“yeah, uh. no,” mumbles Benrey.
Gordon closes down OBS and Firefox entirely. Just to be safe. “A little fucking warning next time? How did you even do that?”
“administrator privileges.”
There’s a pause. Then Gordon sinks back down into his chair, defeated. “I shouldn’t have given you those. I should have smashed you up into little pieces when I had the chance. After you bought fucking Burnout Paradise on my dime—“
“you should show me what you look like,” blurts out Benrey, voice low and blunt.
“I— What?”
“i can make it look better. more like you.”
Gordon stares at the screen. Benrey avoids his gaze. He boggles a little, so far beyond comprehending this that he’s skipped past ‘denial’ and ‘anger’ all the way into ‘acceptance’. “Are you— Are you hitting on me?”
“for the immersion,” Benrey says stiffly.
Gordon throws his head back in frustration. “They’re just not— fucking— they’re not big enough! They’re short and stubby and I can’t— get them— where I want!” His wrist bends, desperately seeking something that he can’t describe. The tendons sing in pain. He hisses, then relaxes it, letting his hand fall limp.
Benrey stares down at him, mouth parted.
“This was stupid,” groans Gordon. “Now my hand’s all sticky and I don’t wanna wipe it on anything—“
“try again,” Benrey interrupts him, blunt and hoarse. “please?”
Gordon peers blearily at him from over the top of his glasses. “Huh?”
“i wanna.” That massive jaw gyres, struggling to work itself around a thought. “i could do it better. make it good.”
Heat rockets through Gordon’s belly, spiraling up his spine and leaving his hairs standing on end. His dick twitches without his conscious effort. Benrey’s eyes immediately dart to it. Emboldened, Gordon draws his fingertips around his hole, threatening to slip back in. “Yeah, bud? You sure? I don’t think you’ve ever done this before.”
“how would you know,” Benrey puffs.
“Uh, well, you’re in my fucking computer, for one thing.” He slips two fingers in with little resistance, just up to the second knuckle. For show. Nobody say he never did anything for Benrey. “But you know what? Maybe this’ll be funny.”
Benrey’s face hardens. “it’s not funny,” he says, pouting in high-definition. “i would never joke about pussy shit.”
“Point one: That is one hundred percent not true,” Gordon points out. “Point two—“ He curls them and groans, a soft noise. “I wanna hear it. Straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“what does this got to do with horses,” says Benrey, bewildered.
Gordon shifts in his seat, stretching a leg high into the air and gripping the back of his thigh to hold it firmly in place. His fingers move in a slow, back-and-forth motion, just enough that they visibly slide in and out, shiny and wet. Benrey makes a strangled noise in his throat.
“You think you could make it good for me? Tell me. Show me what I’m missin’ out on.”
Benrey’s fingers twitch around his avatar, scaled up to giant-like proportions, far too big for the task at hand but itching to put it into practice. “fuckin’,” he starts, low and rumbling and struggling to articulate himself, “stretch you open… mine’re bigger. lookie.” With his other hand, he waggles his fingers in front of Gordon.
“Well, duh,” Gordon says.
Above him, Benrey’s gaze shifts to his own hand, gears churning behind his eyes. “they’re still bigger,” he insists.
To prove his point, he snaps them - in a stomach-churning instant, Gordon’s camera snaps back to an isometric viewpoint, looking in on their dollhouse. On them. On Benrey’s Sim, pale and shirtless, beads of sweat tastefully textured on his skin, leaning over his own on the cheapest double bed Simoleons could buy. There’s a hand pressed against the mattress, and another at his waist. Pawing at him. And, unlike Gordon’s own hands, they’re proportioned well for a guy his size: closer to dinner plates than the slim, short ones he’s furiously trying to bend into the right shape in real life.
He shivers in his seat.
“Point taken,” he says. His voice cracks partway through.
As if on cue, their Sims start moving again, gracelessly sliding and snapping into a new position. Gordon’s stripped naked, letting Benrey between his legs, and one large hand buries itself in that hairy, thorny knot of polygons and glossy pink textures while the other holds him wide open. The fidelity’s good enough that Gordon can see exactly how the fingers curl: two outside, keeping them back, and two inside, making his Sim’s hips gyrate.
“lookatchu,” Benrey rumbles in his ear. “takin’ it like a champ…”
Gordon sucks in a sudden breath. He curls his own fingers in time with the animation, speeding up to match.
“bet you could take more.”
He whines and visibly clenches around his fingers. “Jesus, man!”
“yeah? yeah? c’mon,” taunts Benrey, shy of breath. “show me. put another one in.”
Gordon weakly mumbles some expletives as he leans his head into the crook of his headphones. Presses himself closer to that voice. “Who taught you how to fucking— talk like that,” he groans, pushing in a third finger.
The fans inside his tower spin faster. Louder. “fuuuck, dude,” he hears, a low, pained utterance.
“I’d let you,” Gordon says dizzily, “God, I must have lost my fucking mind, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” his fingers make slick, filthy, squelching noises inside of himself, “let you put your hand in me—“
“i wanna,” Benrey cuts him off, too fast. Eager. “wanna fuckin’— wear you like a puppet—“
Gordon makes a sharp noise that surprises even himself. The he half-laughs, half-pleads, “Don’t *say* shit like that! That’s not— That’s not hot!”
“you moaned. i heard it, buddy.”
He ignores this. Benrey takes the opportunity to lean in, getting a closer view of Gordon’s webcam. And the slick folds Gordon’s spreading open for him.