Gordon blinks up at Benrey, wide-eyed.
His mind flashes back to Xen, to Benrey’s face, blown up to IMAX proportions. Back then, though, he was all polygons and sharp edges, an unflinching, unmoving expression. Now, his mouth moves. His smile lines bend and stretch. A tongue darts out to run over a pointed canine. And there’s the faintest glimmer of light dancing on his eyeballs, almost lifelike.
“…What did you do?”
“pretty neat, huh?” Benrey clicks the t’s with a smug air. “i, uh… i’m doing a nice for you. friend.”
Gordon cranes his neck higher, trying to take in the full breadth of him, and spots a floating green plumbob spinning lazily above his head. His hands fly up in disbelief. But there’s— there’s nothing there. There’s no headset, no controllers in his curiously low-res hands.
Horror creeps into his voice. “Did you… Did you put me in the game?”
“i’m— i’m listening. and learning. you love listening and learning.”
His mouth moves, but no sounds come out.
“put you in my car. and put me in your car. and we can… we can drive around. in each other’s shoes,” rambles Benrey.
“How the fuck,” he whispers. Is he dreaming? A hard pinch to the inside of his arm doesn’t do anything but hurt. “This isn’t funny, dude! Whatever you did, fucking— undo it! Get me out!”
Benrey hums, eyes sliding from one side to another as he pretends to think about it. “mm… no, i don’t think so. we’re playing em-pa-thy game now. see how you like it.” His hands frame the top edge of the walls, and he leans in to get a better look. “would it be nice if i left you in here? all alone?”
“No,” Gordon says, hoarse with fear.
“wouldn’t be… very friendy, i think,” muses Benrey. “i can go and leave and hang out with my real friends. look.”
He points. Gordon follows it to a monitor on a desk, just like his own. A video winks into view and starts to play. It’s a feed of his room, the same one that he’s seen mirrored back at him hundreds of times, except instead of himself sitting in his black-and-red gamer chair… it’s Benrey. Benrey waves at him. Gordon can’t help but wave back, mystified.
“Is that… real?”
Benrey grins at him in high definition. “real as apple pie,” he drawls. “is it good?”
Gordon’s mouth opens, then closes again. “…What?”
“my game. i can get you in my shoes,” Benrey says, smile dropping. It’s replaced with an uncomfortable earnestness. “i can get you in my head.”
Empathy. In his head. It clicks into place. The knowledge that Benrey’s been able to listen in to his conversations (for how long? What else has he heard?) wars with the realization that, in some twisted way, this is Benrey’s attempt at giving a shit. He’s trying to come to an understanding with Gordon. Like the world’s most batshit play therapy.
“I-I’m sorry, okay? I get it!” Gordon faces the model, David pleading with Goliath for mercy. “I shouldn’t have left you in here. You made your point. Now will you let me back out?!”
After an excruciatingly long pause, Benrey reaches down into the dollhouse and plucks Gordon out. Gordon yelps in surprise, clutching at Benrey’s hand. “i wanna play my game with you. we always get to play your game… and when we do it, you’re— hh— nice to me. in the game. so i’m gonna…”
Gordon blinks up at him, alarmingly close to his face. His heart thuds in his chest. “Gonna what?”
“gonna be nice,” Benrey says, finding his words again. “right?”
He cannot believe he’s even considering this. A year ago, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. He would have reformatted his computer first. Quit his streaming gig and tucked his tail between his legs and went back home. At least then he wouldn’t be sitting here in the palm of Benrey’s hand, stomach swooping, telling him to go ahead. Keep going. Play it out.
“arms up.”
“Seriously?”
“how else ‘m i supposed to get this crap off,” whines Benrey. “there’s outfits in here. dress-ups.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry, man. I forgot that a guy who put me in my fucking computer can’t just, like, snap his fingers and change my clothes!” He rolls his eyes, but raises his arms anyway. “Just be careful, alright? I-I don’t wanna fall.”
Benrey rolls his eyes in turn. “baby’s bitch gordon, always scared of falling…”
“It hurts! I like not hurting!”
His stomach tightens with nervous anticipation, but Benrey doesn’t immediately move to take anything off. Instead, his free hand flexes awkwardly in the air. Benrey squints at it. One finger extends, then another, a puppeteer experimenting with a marionette, until Benrey’s satisfied he’s mastered it. They curl with intent. He pins the hem of Gordon’s shirt between two large fingertips and lifts, with the same detached precision as a hobbyist applying a decal to a model.
It’s only when it clears his head that Gordon realizes what’s under the shirt.
“And that’s as far as you’re going,” he says in a rush. His arms drop to protect the binder underneath.
“huh? what’s with the tank top. it’s gonna look— gonna be stupid.”
“Look, is it not fucking good enough that I’m letting you play dress up with me?! Get it over with!”
“sheesh, okay,” mutters Benrey. He scrolls through menus that Gordon can’t make out on his end, then plucks from them a turtleneck, plain and black. It gets tugged over Gordon’s head with little finesse. His head pops out from the neck, hair frazzled and glasses askew. “aw, lookatchu. frickin’, encyclopedius jones over here.”
“What?” Gordon sputters, laughing, before Benrey stands him in front of a mirror. He examines himself, curious. “Huh. I’ve never worn a turtleneck before.”
Benrey’s mouth pulls to the side, judging him, before he leans down to smooth Gordon’s hair back with a finger. Gordon rears back with surprise; warmth prickles on his face. Then Benrey pulls away, and he sways a little. Before he knows it, Benrey’s rummaging through more menus, tossing aside outfits he finds wanting, and holding a crisp pair of burgundy pants up to Gordon’s body.
“cute,” he says to himself, low and quiet. He takes Gordon in his hand again.
“I— Hey! Can you at least take me out to dinner first?!” It comes out in a hysterical laugh as Benrey’s fingers paw uselessly at his zipper, making him squirm. Threatening to slip loose. “I can change my own fucking pants, dude!”
“i got it,” whines Benrey again. Like Gordon’s being unreasonable.
A fingertip pushes up his shirt, grazing the skin of his belly. Gordon’s stomach jumps. His breath stops short. Benrey struggles, scaled much too large for the job at hand, and eventually he gives up and tugs at the hem of Gordon’s jeans instead. Gordon hurriedly unzips them before Benrey rips them clean off.
He’s perfectly clinical in his attention. If clumsy. The fine motions don’t come through very well. But the gist is good enough, and he shimmies them up Gordon’s legs and doesn’t raise a fuss when Gordon does up the button himself.
They’re tight. Gordon feels pressed in tight from head to toe. But the black is slimming, and the cut flatters his wrists. By all accounts, he does look nice. “Okay,” he admits, “not bad. So can we, like— can we play the game now?”
“huh? uh, no,” Benrey says. He scratches his nose. “this is the game. ‘n’ i haven’t done your other dress-ups yet. there’s formal… uh, night time… balloons…” He pulls out a three-piece suit from his infinite set of drawers and scrutinizes it. Gordon sighs.
When he’s all finished, Benrey sets Gordon back down in the dollhouse, in an unfurnished, unpainted room. “okay. three… two… one… go!”
Gordon doesn’t go anywhere. Instead, he looks around the surroundings, growing more confused by the second. Benrey frowns and tries to nudge him forward, making him stumble, and Gordon snaps at him.
“What do you want me to do? There’s nothing here!”
Above him, Benrey shrugs. “i dunno.”
There’s a few plain wooden doors leading out of the room, but when Gordon peeks behind them, they lead only to more empty rooms. The only furnishings are in his bedroom. And even then…
“You didn’t even give me a bed,” he tells Benrey, half-laughing. The only stuff Benrey’s put in here are the things he can see from Gordon’s webcam.
Benrey pauses. Then items start dropping in: his bookshelves, his bed, his floor lamp, his old Halloween lights strung around the perimeter of his ceiling. When he’s done, he looks expectantly at Gordon, who takes a seat on the bed and feels it sink under him. It’s remarkably lifelike. Gordon’s fingertips linger on the comforter, drawing circles on the rough weave.
“Okay. It’s a start,” concedes Gordon. “Did you make anything else?”
“huh?”
“Like a kitchen, or a living room, or…”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he confirms his suspicions by taking a look outside his door. It’s all the same flat white, featureless halls and empty rooms wrapping around each other, dizzying, interlocked patterns with no start or end.
Gordon quickly closes it. “Let’s— Let’s just start with a kitchen, okay? One room. Just like mine, but with an oven and stuff.”
Above him, Benrey’s gaze focuses somewhere slightly to the right of him. Below him. He’s not sure what’s going on, like, with Benrey’s side of the screen, but whatever he sees there engages his focus. It’s unfamiliar. An intense concentration. Single-minded. All the hairs on Gordon’s scalp prickle.
Some strange tension collapses when Benrey pulls a perfect square of a room apart with his fingers, stretching its corners tightly over an unseen frame before dropping in a table, a fridge… a nice one, too. With the vertical doors.
All Gordon has to do is sit back and watch.
Benrey’s eyes struggle to adapt to his new vantage point. All those gentle gradients and soft curves turn harsh through the bright headset display, so close to his eyes that he can see every pixel in stark relief. He tries to lean in closer to get a better look at Gordon, but he only manages to bonk his head on Gordon’s monitor. He sucks in air through his teeth.
It’s weird, getting used to all this. The physicality. Sure, Benrey’s bonked his head before. He’s felt “hurt”. Felt it a lot, actually. But his sense of— of— of where he’s at is all messed up. His shit just don’t move like he expects it to. He’s gotta hit a fucking button to move closer, another to pick Gordon up, and anything more complicated than that is buried deep in nested context menus that have different options every time he opens them back up.
It used to be so easy. Benrey rights himself and readjusts the headset.
Thankfully, there’s a model kitchen to get him started. He plops down one of everything, just like the picture: one sink, one oven, one table, one chair. A single spoon hanging on the wall. A wallpaper with puppies on it. He even put a curtain on the window. Benrey waits expectantly for praise.
Gordon doesn’t end up doling any out, though. Instead, he whines about food. It’s a fridge. It’s supposed to have snacks in it. But now it’s Benrey’s problem, and he’s gotta sift through menus because Gordon wants just a sandwich or something, Jesus, and he keeps pulling shit out that he doesn’t mean to. A tricycle. A fishtank. Gordon makes a pathetic little sound - a laugh and a moan all at once - that makes Benrey feel funny.
It’s weirdly physical. There’s a heaviness to his body that he’s not used to. Things hanging in unfamiliar places. But— but this is good. He zooms in closer to watch.
Eventually, he finds what he’s looking for, and Gordon starts eating instead of talking. A meter in the corner slowly fills up, turning from yellow to green.
Benrey zooms back in on Gordon, centering him in the frame. He’s got— there’s shoulders in this outfit. Bare. Tan. Biceps, too, tensing as Gordon shifts in place.
“can you do something funny now,” Benrey says, terse.
Gordon says something, but it’s muffled through a mouthful of sandwich. Benrey tunes out. The meters are more interesting. He’s got all the garden-variety needs, like Hunger and Fun, but he’s also equipped with a few Benrey hasn’t seen before. Whimsy (half-empty). Neuroticism (full, and a nice, healthy green). And Sex (catastrophically low, a miserable little sliver of red that practically pulses for his attention).
Okay. Cool. He can work with that.
A sudden motion drags Benrey’s attention away like a ship through molasses. “Hellooo,” Gordon calls out, arms waving in the air. “Are you even listening to me?”
“wuh?”
Gordon sighs. “C’mon, Benrey, focus! If you’re gonna make me play this stupid game, at least do it right!”
“it’s not stupid,” mutters Benrey. A good sulk starts to settle around his shoulders. “’sides, you said you— you said you wanted to.”
No response. Instead, Gordon walks to the nearest hallway, a hand lightly trailing over the wall as he passes. It meets the room at a foreboding angle. He pushes open first door on the right and peeks his head inside, curious. “There’s not even a toilet in the bathroom.”
“it’s a good bathroom. got… everything a growing young man could need.” He maneuvers closer, peering down at Gordon through the eyes of a massive avatar, and points. “bath.” Then he draws his fingertip around the perimeter. “room.” Finally, he stops at a TV mounted on the wall, with a console underneath. “xbox.”
“Of course. The shower Xbox,” Gordon says weakly.
He steps inside. Newspaper crinkles under his feet. Gordon stops, then gingerly picks up a sheet between his thumb and forefinger, like it’s dirty.
“What’s with the newspapers?”
“for you. your meters.”
Gordon goes quiet. His eyes flick to the floor, then to Benrey, face contorting in the first throes of an Expression. The kind that says he’s either about to get a good, gut-busting laugh or extremely yelled at. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, face going red.
Benrey’s stomach twists in anticipation.
“I’m not a— I’m not fucking peeing on this, dude!”
“why not,” says Benrey, baffled. “it was in the menu. with all the toilers.”
In the corner of Benrey’s screen, Gordon’s little portrait turns red. “For dogs! Not people!”
“same difference.”
The game’s helpful enough to spell out “ANGRY” in big, bold letters, but Gordon’s Fun meter is crawling up, and he’s laughing, high-pitched and a little strained. Benrey’s eyebrows furrow. “Okay, fine! Give dogs the right to vote or whatever! Just put a normal toilet in here, okay?” demands Gordon, bouncing on his heels.
It’s not perfect, but Benrey’s newfound vantage point does clarify some things for him. The Bladder meter’s been ticking down this whole time, slowly but surely inching into the red, and Gordon’s starting to squirm. But he’s still having fun. He’s thinking about Benrey, dogged by little thought bubbles that give him away. He’s enjoying this.
Benrey shifts in his seat. Heat pulses at the back of his neck, up his ears. There’s a vague feeling of discomfort somewhere around his middle, but he’s too engrossed in his game to pay it any mind. “whatcha gonna do, huh? little… little pee-pee boy? gonna piss your pants about it?”
Gordon sputters. His Sex meter twitches to life, red and angry.
Benrey’s breathing comes harder. And harder still when Gordon starts to whine, pleading with him to knock it off, this is fucking embarrassing, he’s not gonna play this stupid game anymore if Benrey makes him— well, Gordon doesn’t elaborate. Just gets squirmy and fussy and sweaty. But he sounds serious enough about putting his toys away and going home that Benrey cuts him some slack.
A single toilet stall, fully enclosed on all sides, slots into place. “Thank you,” Gordon snaps at him, before slamming the door closed.
The sunny yellow of embarrassment pops up in the corner of Benrey’s screen.
How did he find these fucking mods, Gordon thinks, a little hysterical, as he stares down at the slick junction of his thighs.
Benrey’s fingers tighten around the handles of his controllers. Gordon’s taking too long. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He wants to see. He wants to touch. For real, not just pretending. If he could just reach into the game like normal, he could— He could—
He could reach for Gordon as easily as thinking about it. Feel how warm and fuzzy his body must be. Run a fingertip along Gordon’s jaw, along the stubble, without struggling to make things move how he wants them to. Everything he wants feels just out of reach, so frustratingly close that he can’t stop his hands from clenching and relaxing in endless repetition.
Where’s the button for giving Gordon a big ol’ kiss? For darting his tongue out to sneak a taste?
His patience only holds out so long. If he can’t figure it out like this - big, too big, scaled up weird ‘cuz the models don’t fit - maybe something else can. Something more on Gordon’s level.
When Gordon steps out into the light of the hall, the horizon is empty. So’s the kitchen. Benrey’s up and vanished.
“Well, I appreciate the privacy,” he says to himself. Then he raises his voice, calling out, “You can come back out now!”
When no response is forthcoming, Gordon takes it upon himself to investigate. Without Benrey there to block out the view, the sky is a flat, unnatural gray, an unbroken plane that makes irrational dread well up in Gordon’s stomach. He quickly looks away, heading to the bedroom. It’s as empty as he left it. The computer’s on, though, and the monitor displays a live feed of… his room. In real life. With Benrey sitting in front of the camera, headset over his eyes.
Gordon bends closer to look. Benrey doesn’t react. He’s preoccupied, fiddling with something that Gordon can’t see. He looks similar enough to his avatar - pale and scrawny, boasting a faint shadow of stubble and a security vest - that it throws Gordon for a loop. The helmet’s missing, though, and tufts of short black hair jut out around the band of the headset. A sliver of pink juts out from between Benrey’s teeth. In concentration.
He stays there longer than he means to, just watching.
The hallway spirals out into the darkness, and Gordon ventures deeper into the heart of the house, fingers alighting on the wall to trace his path.
Rooms with complex, organic shapes bud out from the stem, some empty and waiting to be filled, others populated with nonsensical furniture, vending machines next to bunkbeds, birdhouses and baby grand pianos, fantastical tiled floors that glitter like stars, water-stained wallpaper peeling in strips from the ceiling, chairs clipping through tables and angry spikes jutting from the walls, rooms filled with beanbags and stuffed animals and blankets just waiting to be rolled around on, stairs spiraling up into the ceiling with no visible destination, all of it folding in on itself in endless fractal, and Gordon can only push onwards, taking it all in with wide, curious eyes.
He steps through a white wooden door and finds himself back where he started, stepping over the threshold to his room. But this time, a dark figure stands in the center, locking eyes with him.
Gordon’s heart lurches with terror.
“hey, bro,” it says, stepping into the light. It’s— it’s—
“Benrey,” Gordon breathes. “Jesus Christ.”
It’s Benrey, but smaller. More human-sized. His features have been upscaled and smoothed, a recreation of the original within the limitations of the engine, blunted in the same way Gordon is. And above him, the original waves his fingers, arm resting on one of the walls and chin resting in his hand.
“you like?”
“Is this what you were doing? Making yourself?” He steps around Benrey’s double, examining him from all angles. No security vest this time, just a white dress shirt and a loose tie, and dark eyes that follow him around the room.
“i was trying to,” Benrey starts, but he trails off into mumbling and gesturing and doesn’t elaborate further. Something in him resets, and he continues, “ain’t he sweet. i think he’s got my eyes.”
Gordon raises a critical eyebrow. “Sure. Uh. Quick question.” He waggles his own fingers in front of Sim-Benrey’s eyes, and feels a little relieved when he blinks. “I don’t think there’s a not-insane way to ask this, but… Is he, like, alive?”
Above him, Benrey shrugs. “he’s my me.”
“Thanks, man. Helpful.”
Benrey - the one that comes up to his shoulders, and man, he really needs to figure out something to call him to differentiate them - wrinkles his nose at Gordon. “i’m as alive as you are, buddy.”
“That’s— that’s great. That’s really good. That’s a whole philosophical thing you’ve just dropped on me,” Gordon says, strained.
“we can play the game for real now.”
He crosses his arms. “I thought this was the game.”
“we’re playing a different one now,” Benrey tells him. There’s an intensity to his voice that makes the hairs on Gordon’s neck stand on end. “new rules. we’re playing… gordon’s house.”
“Do I even want to ask—“
Before he can finish his sentence, he feels himself moving against his volition, walking along a track until he’s directly in front of Benrey’s Sim. Benrey grins up at him, delighted and a little mean, and sticks out his hand.
Gordon stares at him.
Again, some mysterious force grips him, bending his arm into position for a handshake, and he jerks forward as it forces him to grab Benrey’s hand. A button depresses under his palm and it fucking shocks him and he yanks it back, yelping and hissing and glaring at Benrey. “What the fuck was that?!”
“you’re liking my trick?”
“No!” He shakes his poor, sore hand furiously. “What did you do to me?”
“played my prank,” Benrey says.
“You made my fucking body move!”
Benrey shrugs again, unconcerned. “i just told him to prank you. as a jokes. you love jokes.” Gordon lets out an annoyed sigh, and he continues, “calm down, please. eat some bread and feel better.”
“I don’t wanna eat bread,” Gordon bitches.
It happens again - he pivots, then strides toward the kitchen, held hostage by his own mutinous legs. He’s pulling an entire loaf of bread out and taking a bite of a slice before his body will respond to him.
“Fucking—“ The expletive’s muffled through a full mouth. He swallows, hard and dry. “Don’t do that!” Gordon vehemently throws the remainder of the bread on the floor. “Just because I’m a Sim doesn’t mean you can just— boss me around!”
“i don’t think you’re very good at this,” Benrey says flatly. “dolls aren’t supposed to talk.”
Gordon’s mouth slams shut. A dizzying, confusing wave of heat rolls over him, a feeling that he has never before fucking experienced. The game walks him right back to the bedroom, where Benrey waits for him, sitting on his bed. Expectantly. With enough room for Gordon to take a seat next to him, whether he likes it or not.
“go on. he wants a kiss.”
Gordon’s eyes quickly flick between Benrey hovering high above him and Benrey sitting next to him, heat simmering at the base of his neck. This isn’t fair. There’s two of them and only one of him, and he’s not looking at them with dark, impenetrable eyes. “I’m not giving you a kiss,” he insists hotly.
“what? why not?” Benrey pouts. “you gave me so many kisses before.”
“Yeah, when you were a gnome! This is different!”
“how.”
“Uh, for one thing, you’re not really giving me much of a choice!” Gordon gestures frantically at the guy next to him, who blinks and draws his head back. “And you’re like a— a real guy now! And not some weird little baby thing! Doing it for real is a totally different situation, man!”
Benrey frowns down at him. “it’s me in there,” he says, clueless. “and it’s me in here. you kissed me.” The bed creaks as Benrey scoots just a little closer to him. “i thought it was for real before. bro. one little kissy?”
“Jesus Christ,” Gordon blurts out, voice breaking. “Why are you even asking me? Aren’t you just gonna make me?”
“why would i do that,” sulks Benrey.
True to his word, he doesn’t. He just leaves them sitting together in tense silence. Sweat beads on Gordon’s forehead. So, like, what? He wants Gordon to do it himself? Real convenient. It would just be easier, is all, if he had an excuse. Gordon doesn’t know how he consistently chooses the worst possible time to do things.
“Okay, look, I’ll give you a kissy. But just one. On the cheek! And that’s it.”
He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and hurriedly pecks Benrey on the cheek. Just like he said. When he opens them again, Benrey’s Sim meets his gaze, wide-eyed. A hand rests on his cheek in disbelief. And his face is flushed a light pink.
“cool,” he says. “i wanna try.”
Benrey repeats the gesture. It’s light and chaste, curiously warm, and he lingers at Gordon’s cheek a few seconds longer before pulling back. Neither of them speaks.
Then Benrey does it again. On the other side of his face this time. “gotta make it even,” he mutters against Gordon’s skin.
Goosebumps race up his jaw and down his neck. “Okay,” warbles Gordon.
“hang on.” Another. “missed a spot.” Back to the other side again.
Gordon’s hands come up, but he doesn’t attempt to put them anywhere. Like, say, on Benrey’s shoulders, to push him away. They just hover awkwardly around Benrey’s arms. Warmth inches closer and closer to his lips on each pass, and the butterflies in his stomach kick up harder in turn. This is— this has gotten way out of hand, he thinks wildly. The joke’s gone far enough.
But Benrey doesn’t stop. And Gordon doesn’t move. And it feels like a lot less of a joke when Benrey’s lips finally drag across his cheek to his parted mouth.
It’s— it’s good. Is the thing. It feels just like the real deal.
“Okay,” he says, voice doing something funny this close to Benrey’s face. “Yeah, I— I can’t— You have to lock the door, dude. Like, right now. In real life.” He backs up enough to catch the real Benrey in the eye. “If my roommate comes home and sees you in my room, he’s gonna call the fucking cops! Go! Seriously!”
Benrey boggles at him, but does as he says, tugging off the headset and fumbling with the lock on Gordon’s door. Gordon watches him through the feed on his monitor. His head swells.
“hey,” says Benrey. The one on the bed with him, that is. He’s a lot closer than Gordon expects. The look in his eyes is impenetrable as he says, “kinda rude, man.”
“It was important!”
“i wasn’t done,” he fusses, leaning in. This time, when he kisses Gordon, his leg fits neatly next to Gordon’s.
The angle’s awkward. Benrey’s pressing a little too hard. But he’s dangerously enthusiastic, and his hands feel worryingly good where they settle near Gordon’s waist, and Gordon’s never been macked on quite like it, okay? Not like he’s— he’s—
Like he’s a piece of meat, he thinks dizzily, just as Benrey licks his bottom lip.
Gordon gasps into his mouth. It’s all the leverage he needs to slide closer, slotting their legs together. He’s warm. He’s a little automaton, a handful of polygons and subroutines, a homunculus of a homunculus beyond his wildest physical conceptions of the world, and he’s warm.
“whoa. nice,” he hears from above.
He drags his mouth away from Benrey’s in a daze. That same face looms overhead, Benrey writ large, fingers curled around the top of the room and digging into the wallpaper. Wide eyes meet Gordon’s.
His heart lurches. He can feel it in his ears. Between his legs.
Gordon flinches away from Benrey’s Sim on pure, mechanical instinct. “O-Okay, uh,” he starts, face hot, “I— I’m not— We need to take, like, a real generous five, here!” Gordon scrambles for a way out of this situation - it’s too surreal, too intense, especially with Benrey’s stare burning a hole clean through him. From both sides.
“huh?” they say in unison.
“See, it’s— it’s shit like that! No more of that! One at a time!”
“i’m just tryin’ to play games, man,” pouts the larger one.
Gordon’s hands gesture furiously but uselessly. After a string of sputtering, he manages to get out, “You’re fucking kissing me!”
“…okay?”
“I can’t be kissing on you! You’re in my fucking computer!” He pushes back his hair from his forehead.
Benrey shifts overhead. The shadow of his visor tilts over his eyes, leaving them dark. “thought you liked it.”
“Th-That’s beside the point!”
“it’s the whole enchilada, big guy,” says Benrey. The one within kissing distance, that is. “you tryin’ to pull the wool over my eyeballs?”
“Oh, come on,” Gordon blusters, not looking him in the eyes.
“not very, uh, cash money of you.” The other one tags in. He leans in close and taps something just out of Gordon’s field of view, making a clear, glassy sound. There’s a delicate trill to his voice when he says, “i can see right through you, buddy. i know what gordon likes.”
Gordon stares at him, stunned silent.
“don’tcha remember? i’m in gordon’s head now.” He smiles, just a little. “you can’t fool me no more. says right here… thinking about… ‘first kiss’.”
Shit.
“mmh… ‘make a grilled cheese’…” he continues, combing through Gordon’s thought bubbles.
Shit.
“and… huh. that’s nasty, gordo. filthy boy,” Benrey leers.
“Whatever!” Gordon says loudly. He stands up and starts to pace. “I’m a dude, you know, I’m a guy’s guy! Everybody thinks about it!”
Benrey rests his chin on his upturned palm. “i’m thinkin’ about it.”
Gordon’s head whips around to face him, but not for long. Nerves keep him moving in tight little ellipses. “I don’t wanna know what you’re thinking right now!”
“i dunno, bro. kinda think you should— you should hear me out,” he says, reaching into his dollhouse and plucking Gordon up by the waist to hold him at eye level. “cuz i’m thinkin’… i’m good. i’m nice. i can… i can do that. i can fuck you, bro.”
Lightning shoots through his belly. “Jesus fucking Christ—“
“nicey-style,” continues Benrey, undeterred. “or… nasty-style. or goofy-style. you want ol’ bendy to be a fuckin’… goofy sicko on you? huh?”
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Gordon lies.
Benrey brings him even closer, whispering near Gordon’s ear, “whatever you want, bro.”
Gordon shudders. His eyes squeeze shut, and then open again. Whatever he wants. Tall fucking order if he’s ever heard one.