His hands are doing something weird. They’re moving, but he’s not making them move. He didn't give them permission to do that. Benrey grips his controllers harder in an effort to make them stop, but all it does is make the plastic squeak.
Gordon wants him to do it, huh. He can do it so good. It’s easy for him. He can be the bad guy, if Gordon wants. Or the good guy. Or the big guy… the small guy… anything’s possible. And it’ll be the most impressive that anyone’s ever done it. Just like going 40-foot-tall mode and showing off all his beautiful new forms. He can do that, but for sex, he thinks.
What do people like when they’re gettin’ down to business? In movies, there’s always, like, heart-shaped beds. Rose petals. Champagne. The works. Benrey’s tongue peeks out between his teeth, deep in thought, before he drops piles of rose petals all over Gordon’s Sim-bedroom.
Gordon’s head turns as petals flutter around him. “What is that? Rose petals?”
“yep.” He pops the ‘p’.
Gordon laughs a little, before plucking one off of his bed and rolling it between his fingers. He goes quiet for longer than Benrey expects, so long that he starts to shift in his seat, uncomfortable, before pretending to flick through the Buy menu as a distraction. What he’s really focused on, though, is the meters. Gordon’s Whimsy is going up for the first time all night. And there’s a new emotion under Gordon’s portrait. Pink. Coy. Flirty.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Gordon says at last, laughing again. “What is this? Are you— Are you trying to seduce me?”
“yes,” Benrey says, too quickly.
His Sim rests a hand on Gordon’s bare knee, a finger sliding just under the hem of his shorts. Gordon honks in surprise.
That discomfort around his middle gets worse, disrupting his concentration. Benrey lets them play for a little bit while he pulls off the headset. Everything looks fine, he thinks. At least from the outside. When he adjusts himself in his seat, though, he feels something against his thighs. Something that makes him shiver.
He palms himself, intrigued. Positive reinforcement feeds into an adaptive loop.
The problem with kissing Benrey is that it’s not exactly a one-to-one recreation. Mouths can move. They can soften against each other in a surprisingly realistic fashion, as if somebody had lovingly tugged each and every polygon into place. But his clothes can’t. Benrey paws at his shirt in frustration, finding it stiff and unresponsive, and Gordon starts to sweat, suddenly caught between a rock and a hard place.
“I think we might need a hand,” he calls out to the bigger one, voice cracking.
Benrey-as-player blinks down at Gordon. “huh?”
“how’m i supposed to sex gordon up if i can’t get into his frickin’ panties,” pouts the Benrey sucking wet marks into Gordon’s neck, trying to feel up Gordon’s stomach with minimal success.
“Real tactful, man!”
He’s interrupted by a big hand swooping down to yank him away. There’s a vague whine behind him as he’s lifted up to meet Benrey’s flat gaze. “i know how to get ‘em off,” he says, loud and booming.
“You have to warn a guy before you start doing shit like that! This is not the way I normally navigate the world!”
“’m careful,” Benrey insists. “i’m the button… master.” As if to demonstrate, Benrey carefully takes the hem of his shirt between his thumb and index finger.
His turtleneck’s pulled up and over his head. Underneath, a black binder disguises itself as a tank top. Gordon’s heart thuds. Anxiety blossoms in his stomach, making him nauseous, but it’s a moral sickness in him that wants giant hands to peel all his clothes off. Expose him. Make him spread his legs. What’s that little secret he’s been keeping from his best bud? In the fantasy, Benrey’s voice rumbles all around him, a hungry attention, laser-focused on Gordon’s filthy wet cunt. Licking his lips.
Gordon snaps back to reality, dick swelling, almost dizzy from warmth, to find Benrey’s head cocked at him.
“I gotta tell you something,” he blurts out, stupidly.
Benrey blinks. One eye seems to lag behind the other.
“So, like.” Okay. He’s already in this deep. “There’s something that’s— like—” He’s got this. “I’m just gonna tell you, ahead of time, that— Well, you know, we crack a lot of jokes on here, right?” Benrey nods, perplexed. So Gordon keeps going. No way out but through. “It’s kind of a normal thing, right, for guys to joke about— about getting sucked off? Having your shit swang? That kind of thing?”
“what,” says Benrey.
“I don’t have any of that shit goin’ on,” Gordon barrels on, staring at his knees. “I’m fucking Dickless Jim.”
Benrey repeats himself.
“I was making it all up!” He throws his hands in the air. “No cock. No balls. I’m not— I’m not gonna look like a real guy under all this shit. And you’re gonna laugh, because you always fucking laugh at me, and a dude having no balls is hilarious.” The worst part, he thinks, is that he knows Benrey’s going to laugh, but he doesn’t have the dignity or self-worth for that to be a turn off.
“what the… what do you have,” asks Benrey.
Gordon sighs. “Just take off my undershirt.”
If this were a normal scenario, one where he’s maybe standing over a guy he met on Grindr with an MBA and a wife and a very specific fetish, this would be the point where Gordon pulls his binder over his head and dramatically lets his tits bounce out. But this is the kind of scenario where he’s three inches tall, helpless and utterly powerless, needing Benrey to take care of it for him. It’s— it’s not exactly the same. So Benrey mumbles a baffled little “okay” and does as Gordon suggests.
Gordon keeps his eyes screwed shut until it’s over with. But when Benrey says nothing, he can’t help but peek, and he's met with an enormous, wide-eyed stare. Gordon’s nipples stiffen against his will.
“You wanna take a fucking picture?”
“what? uh, i don’t know what button to— camera,” Benrey mumbles, audibly mashing buttons at random.
“That was a metaphor, dude. Stop pressing buttons. You’re gonna drop me!”
Benrey stops. As if he’s been deprived of a fidget toy, nervous energy spills out of his mouth instead, backed up with nowhere else to go. “cool. boobs. awesome tits, man,” he starts. “not weird. you’re like, um. fight club. i love movies.”
Thankfully, Gordon’s never seen Fight Club, so he doesn’t know what Benrey’s saying to him.
A gear turns, somewhere deep in Benrey’s brain, and an actual thought bubbles to the surface. “can i take your shorts off. please,” Benrey asks quickly.
Gordon lets his knees fall open a little. Then he warns, “I don’t think this part is gonna be like movies, Benrey.”
“they can make movies of anything.”
It’s perversely reassuring. Gordon’s sick in the head. He even lifts his hips to help.
Benrey has to squeeze and jostle him a little to get the right grip on his shorts, which is interesting. His thumb’s very warm on Gordon’s stomach. It spans the whole width of him. He ends up nearly naked in Benrey’s palm, all his hairy, soft flesh on display, pebbled with goosebumps, and Benrey stares at him with rapt attention. Flushed and eager. A big, big tongue peeks out to run over a pointed canine.
Gordon’s heartbeat pulses between his legs. He wants Benrey to take them off. He cannot fucking believe he wants Benrey to take them off - still wants, in spite of that familiar dread, an acute discomfort with the notion of another dude getting into his pants again. Looking at him like guys look at everything with a pussy, as if they can just give him the paper-bag treatment and he’ll be close enough to a girl to get them off. Taking what they can get. He’s not gonna— he’s not gonna fucking delude himself about it. It’s just an unpleasant little truth that he shoves into the back of his mind because he wants to be sucked off so bad he could choke.
After some quiet deliberation, Benrey takes Gordon’s knee between his thumb and forefinger and parts his legs. Gordon tamps down a tiny noise in his throat. Inch by inch, he reveals a thicket of dense, dark hair, curly and damp, artfully framing the most humiliatingly-wet pussy either of them have had the joy of experiencing.
“neat,” Benrey breathes.
Something drips out of Gordon and runs down the curve of his ass. Why not just die, brother. “Don’t say anything stupid. I’m so serious right now, don’t!”
“not stupid,” he says, hoarse. His free hand drops down to his waist, making strange, ineffectual motions. It takes Gordon a second to realize that he’s— he’s jerking off. In real life. With the controller in his fucking hand. “won’t say… nothin’. lips are sealed. incognito.”
Gordon can’t resist a nervous little laugh. Then he lets his legs fall open a little wider, and Benrey’s hand quickens its pace, and the headiness of all that attention on him makes Gordon sweat like a pig.
It’s hard to focus. He almost drops Gordon, and maybe he shouldn’t be juggling so many balls right now. He’s too worked up. Can’t push buttons and jerk off at the same time.
He can’t help himself. As soon as he sees Gordon’s body, his hips jerk into his palm, like a doctor just hit his knee with a triangle. Benrey hunches forward in his seat. He can get so close. Macro lens. Gordon’s soft but muscular at the same time, hairy like a big ol’ teddy bear. His thighs are big, strong, biteable, even, and between them he’s slick and pink and something kind of like a dick (but he said no dick, and no balls) twitches whenever Benrey says something and he’s gripped by the sudden, uncontrollable urge to touch it.
So he does. A big, broad fingertip fits neatly over Gordon’s whole deal. He’s disappointed when he doesn’t feel anything under it, because he’s a little slow on the uptake, but Gordon must. He says words when Benrey rubs him in little circles. He moans like he’s been shot.
He likes it.
Benrey’s whole body tenses, fighting off a monumental surge of pleasure that threatens to bowl him over and make him come. He can’t— it’d ruin the whole game. They haven’t even gotten to the good bit yet.
Benrey puts him back down almost like it’s an afterthought. Like he hadn’t just made Gordon feel impossibly small and vulnerable, spread eagle in his hand while he idly toyed with Gordon’s pussy. How is he supposed to go from discovering a brand-new, horrifying fetish to having normal sex with a normal-sized person? Is there aftercare for this kind of thing? Is he sincerely wanting aftercare from Benrey? The absurdity of it brings him back down to Earth. Much like Benrey does, sitting him neatly on the bed before arranging his limbs just so.
Then Benrey’s little homunculus drops into place beside him, equally nude. He looks so much scrawnier without all his clothes, Gordon thinks. Like this, Gordon can take in the hints of lean muscle in his arms, the faint outline of his ribs, and the thick black hair that covers his arms, chest, stomach, everything. It forms a natural line of sight down to, well—
For God’s sake, it’s his dick, what’s Gordon being all squirrely about it for? It’s literally the most normal thing Benrey could have going on down there. It’s about average in size and shape, and his balls are, too. It’s fine.
“likin’ what you see?”
“Huh?” Gordon jerks his gaze away. “Oh, uh. Yeah! Great dick, man. Balls, too.”
They’re hairy. And kind of wrinkled. He hopes he doesn’t have to put his mouth on them. Maybe Benrey’ll be cool with just a handjob?
“i have to put boner mode on for it to work,” says Benrey. “where’s the fuckin’… settings.”
In the span of a single frame, Benrey’s dick snaps from limp and wiggly to fully erect. Gordon lets out a bark of laughter. “No foreplay or anything?”
Benrey shrugs. “i’m, uh… i’m good to go. put me in, coach.” He pauses, stuck in an idle animation, before continuing, “all kinds of animations in this thing. i bet we could— we could do a— double blowjob. or… topsy turvy style.”
The nausea comes back with a vengeance. Gordon keeps looking at his dick and his stupid fucking balls. It’s not that they’re gross, exactly. As far as the sausage and eggs go. It’s just that, well, he doesn’t wanna touch ‘em. He doesn’t wanna get fucked by ‘em. He just wants to close his eyes and get his rocks off so he can go home. And he realizes in that moment that he can’t do this.
“Wait wait wait wait wait. Time out,” he blurts out. He has no idea what to follow this up with.
“wha… you need to— huddle or somethin’? first down and forty past the—”
“Shut up! I don’t wanna hear it right now!”
Gordon holds his head in his hands. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with himself, and he’s got maybe thirty seconds max to figure it out. He was down just a minute ago, he was so down, and he wanted Benrey, and that’s a terrifying realization in and of itself but now he’s— he’s about to have a panic attack because Benrey’s the best thing to ever happen to him and he’s never had so much fun with anybody else and he was about to crack himself open and spill out his guts and have the freakiest gay sex of his life and now that Benrey’s dick is out it doesn’t feel gay anymore.
He drops his hands and sits up straight. “Am I transphobing myself?”
“you don’t look like a car… or a robots.”
Gordon ignores him. “I think I might be gay, Benrey. Or like— I was gay, but if I don’t wanna fuck you, does that make me not gay? Is that even allowed?”
At that, Benrey rears back. “what the hell— you don’t wanna fuck me?”
He sounds hurt. He looks hurt. Gordon frantically waves his hands in front of himself, trying to dispel it. “No, that’s not what I meant— I swear, hand to God, I was totally down to clown, it’s just— I can’t do the penis shit, man!”
“oh.” Benrey deflates. “wha?”
“It’s not doing it for me! It was fine when you were, like,” and he gestures up and down at Benrey’s body, suggesting covering him up. “It’s— That’s what you looked like. To me. And to be honest I didn’t even think about having sex with you when I started getting this stupid crush on you because, uh, you’re a guy in my freaking computer!”
Benrey furrows his brows like he’s really thinking hard about this. Even Gordon’s aware that this is some of the least comprehensible shit that’s come out of his mouth.
“clothes back on?” Without waiting for an answer, he stands and does a little spinning animation, and he’s back in his outfit.
“I don’t know,” groans Gordon. “This is stupid. Can we just call this off for now? I need some time to like— figure some shit out.”
“i could do some pussy shit for you. whatever does it for you,” Benrey offers.
That hadn’t occurred to him. With another little spin, Benrey’s naked again, and looks… mostly the same. He’s still got the sparse hair on his legs and his stomach, the slim hips and lean figure, but he’s also very much got boobs now. Smallish. Cute. And there’s only thick, dark bush where his dick used to be. Gordon’s mouth opens, then closes, and suddenly his skin’s not so cold anymore. Was this really all it fucking took?
“Okay,” he says, “yeah. Um. I think that’ll do it.”
“we’re matchies now.” Benrey looks over himself, curiously squeezing one of his tits. “whoa. cool. this gender stuff goes crazy.”
This gender stuff does go crazy, Gordon thinks, head spinning. All his blood’s gone elsewhere. Eventually, though, the amount of time that Benrey takes to move or speak manages to get through to him. He’s gone stiff, frozen mid-fondle.
“Um. Do you wanna like, sit back down, or…”
“hold your horses. i’m lookin’ for the foreplay menu.”
Gordon’s cheeks go red. “You know, if you wanted to try again, you could’ve just asked.”
“but we’re making movies, bro,” Benrey whines. “the cinematography.”
Gordon expects him to fumble the last bit, like the million other times he’s tackled a word with more than four syllables, but he’s surprisingly particular about it. As if it matters to him that it comes out right.
“Oh God,” gasps Gordon, arching into Benrey’s hand and throwing an arm over his eyes.
“gordon likes that, huh,” Benrey muses in his ear. His hand gently kneads at Gordon’s chest, squeezing and releasing in a firm, deliberate pattern. Jolts of arousal race down to Gordon’s belly.
“Don’t act so fucking surprised! You’re grabbing my tits!”
“it’s cool. i like it too.” He rolls a nipple around in his fingertips.
Gordon stifles an embarrassing sound. He’s— it’s been awhile since— He’s had a bad string of luck, okay, and it’s hard enough finding anyone who’s interested in him, let alone someone who doesn’t make him feel a little uncomfortable in his own skin. He’s always uncomfortable. There’s a conceptual gap in his brain between his body and the Platonic forms people expect. He’s just not coded the right way. For anybody.
But it’s different now, somehow, being pressed against somebody who looks like him in all the ways that matter. Like he’s not having to perform. Which is stupid, because his whole life is performing and playing roles, and he— he loves it, he really does, so he should be used to it by now.
He’s jerked from his thoughts by a wet, warm mouth on his tits, and a low groan from Benrey’s end. “i wanna taste you, bro,” whines Benrey. (It’s not like his real-life mouth is occupied.)
“You— ah— You can’t just say shit like that!”
“i can say anything in the world,” he insists. “wanna fuckin’… lick you all over,” Benrey continues, voice rough, “like a doggy… ggh… like a big ol’ frog and put you in my mouth—”
Gordon cuts him off with an involuntary moan, shocking even himself.
“like you’re a sexy little bug,” Benrey supplies helpfully.
“That’s not sexy! Nothing about that is sexy!”
Benrey makes a noise of disbelief. “coulda fooled me, gordo.”
Somehow, that makes Gordon’s face burn more than the actual sex. He groans like he’s trying to physically expel the embarrassment from his body. It’s quickly tempered, however, into something more helpless, as Benrey sucks on him, wet and loud, shameless and enthusiastic. Every part of him feels hot and humid, jungle-like. A hand drifts to Benrey’s head and buries itself in his hair.
The hand palming his side drifts to his belly, fingers spread over a field of soft, thin hair, and squeezes appreciatively. A thumb skirts over the curve, rubbing at the tender skin between his stomach and his groin. Gordon sucks in a sharp breath through his nose.
“What are you even getting out of this,” he blurts out, suddenly defensive. “Like, in real life?”
Benrey’s mouth pops off of him with a sound not unlike a plunger. “what do you think, smart boy?”
“I don’t— I don’t know, like—” He stumbles over his words, trying to find a tactful way to articulate it, before giving up and saying, “I don’t know what the joke is! There’s always a fucking bit with you!”
“i’m not joking,” Benrey says. His eyes look very, very dark down there. His voice turns dark, too. “that’s not very nice of you, bud. to say about me… your friend.”
Gordon whines. “I don’t normally do this with my friends.”
“best friends.”
“Or my best friends!” He doesn’t argue the point. He’s not even sure he could - by now, he’s spent more time with Benrey than without.
“you don’t think your best bud benrey likes you? after all this time…” Benrey sighs, a little dramatic, and tilts his head to the side. “i play all your games with you… i make you my videos… i minted you a whole bitcoin…”
“You did what?”
“i do it all for you, buddy boy,” Benrey continues, ignoring him. “kinda mean of you. tellin’ me i’m doin’ it all for the goof… you really think benny’s that bad?” His thumb keeps tracing idle circles around Gordon’s bellybutton, occasionally dipping inside. Making his legs twitch.
Gordon swallows, hard. “Nnno…”
“i don’t gotta be bad. i can be… mmh. lookie here.” Suddenly, there’s a loud clattering noise. Gordon jerks in surprise. “shit,” he hears distantly. Then, closer, he hears, “fuck my stupid white ass.” Finally, the weird noises stop, and Benrey says, loud and clear, “lookit this.”
He looks at Benrey’s Sim, then up at Benrey’s player model, perplexed.
“at the fuckin’… me. my me. on the computer, dummy.”
On the monitor next to his bed, he means. Diegetic. The viewpoint’s a little different, further down than usual, cutting off his face. Instead, the camera’s centered on Benrey’s junk. Gordon stares stupidly at it, wondering where it went - there’s nothing but hair. And then, as if answering his question, a small hand with short black nails parts those waters to reveal a thick, red clit.
“i could fuck a hole through your playstation 2 right now,” Benrey informs him.
“What the fuck,” Gordon says, mouth dry. “What is that?”
“my— my penous.”
“No, I mean— I know what that is! I have that!” His eyebrows furrow. “How do you have that?”
Benrey strokes the shaft of it with a finger. “i dunno. just felt like it.”
“But when you came out of the computer, you didn’t even know I was—” Gordon halts mid-thought when he feels his blood pressure spike, pounding angrily in his temple. “God damn it. I can’t think about this right now. I don’t care.”
Benrey flops back in his gamer chair, sulking. “if you hate it so bad, i’ll blow up my stupid pussy,” he threatens.
“No! Your pussy is fine!”
The animation switches abruptly on him, and Benrey snaps down between his legs, a hand braced on each thigh, grinning up at him with lidded eyes. It’s disarming. “hey, buddy,” he murmurs. “down here.”
“Hey,” Gordon starts, uncertain. Is that— is it Benrey talking? The real one? How did his tone change so fast? After a few moments of nervous silence, he breaks eye contact and fusses, “Can you stop looking at me like that?”
“like what?”
“You know. Like that!” Gordon gestures at him.
Benrey blinks up at him, pleasantly confused. Gordon sighs and stares at the ceiling. This leaves him utterly disarmed when Benrey ducks down to lick Gordon’s bellybutton. He shrieks, leg kicking out on reflex in spite of the instant fucking jolt of heat, and Benrey falls back with a quiet ‘woof’.
“i can— i’ll just— fuckin’, up and go,” Benrey sniffs. “leave your stupid hole to your own… nefarious devices.”
He slams his legs closed, narrowly avoiding crushing Benrey’s head. “My hole’s not stupid! Or fucking nefarious!”
“devious. villainous,” Benrey continues.
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!”
“take my ball and go home…” Benrey pulls his hands away.
“Hang on, let’s not be dramatic—”
“why don’tcha just say it?”
“What?”
“gordon wants me to get nasty with him?” Benrey shoves his legs back open, grinning like a man possessed. Gordon can only stare back at him. “sayyy it.”
Gordon’s— his— his dick fucking twitches, wet thighs newly exposed to the cold air. Heat pulses off of him in waves. “Jesus Christ,” he whines, voice small.
Benrey’s Sim looks at a watch that he most definitely isn’t wearing. “tick tock…”
“Okay, okay! I— God fucking—” Gordon forces out an irritated sigh through his nose, then finally caves, and demands, “Will you please just fuck me already?!”
“yes. yeah. fuck yeah,” says Benrey, licking a hot, wet stripe into Gordon’s cunt without hesitation. Gordon’s head slams back into the pillows.
It’s an unbearable relief. His mouth is warm and welcoming, deliberate in its exploration, broadly enveloping the whole of Gordon’s clit with each lap of his tongue. Licking up the shaft of it is— good. That’s good. Makes low, quiet noises bubble out of him. When Benrey flicks the head, though, Gordon’s leg kicks out again, an involuntary response.
“Don’t do that,” he gasps. “It’s sensitive!”
“fussyyy.”
He doesn’t do it again. Instead, long, thoughtful licks gradually morph into the whole of his mouth drawing Gordon in, sucking it like it’s the real deal. His head even bobs. Gordon moans, and quickly finds that he can’t stop. It’s rhythmic, each sounds timed with Benrey’s head drawing back; his dick’s swelling in Benrey’s mouth, and it stretches the skin, making it feel stiff and delightfully three-dimensional. He pushes his hips up to chase it.
Benrey watches Gordon arch in front of him, wide-eyed. His hand moves quick. It’s easier to tell that Gordon’s got thighs the size of his head when he can see his own head between them, moving just out of sight. And it’s good. It’s not the same, but it’s good. To watch.
Gordon’s voice gets all high, and then it gets all low. And then back again. Every time he gasps, or makes some whiny little noise, Benrey’s dick jumps of its own accord. It’s cool. If some other guy’s making him do it. It’s his own human self, for one thing. He looks good like that. And there’s other upsides: moving the camera around, switching to a first person perspective and back again, that kind of thing. Getting to look at his favorite guy from every single angle. Most importantly, he can still talk to Gordon, which would be kind of hard if he had his actual mouth all over Gordon’s junk.
“Ohhh my God, it feels like the real thing,” Gordon groans, voice hitting an unusually low register.
“i wanna touch it.” It comes out too fast, too rough. “looks all gooey. s-super soaker style.”
Gordon’s hands find Benrey’s head, fingers threading into his short hair.
“i know what your mouth feels like, bro. i kissed it. put my whole ffffrickin’ tongue in it—”
“Fuck!”
“yeah? you like that? filthy boy,” croons Benrey, leaning forward eagerly. Gordon’s fingers tighten. He bets they’d feel warm on his head. “i could put my whole tongue in you… see what you taste like in there. how deep do you think i could—”
Gordon cuts him off with another agonized sound. “Don’t say stuff like that!” he says, despite the fact that he’s actively starting to fuck Benrey’s face.
His dick’s starting to feel less good. Kind of sore. First, he tries licking his hand, but that doesn’t work for very long, so Benrey mumbles something pitiful at Gordon and Gordon bitches at him and Benrey kind of expected that, so it’s fine. He still points Benrey in the direction of some lube on his bedside table. It’s better like that, Benrey thinks. Slicker. More immersive.
Benrey zooms in between Gordon’s legs, to really put his head in the game. There’s a slice of pink in the middle of all those dense curls, all of it glistening, inviting him to touch. To dip his fingers inside, get ‘em all wet and sticky. Run his fingers along Gordon’s— well. His dick, he guesses. He’s not sure what they’re calling it at this point. It’s new and kind of confusing, but it works a lot like a dick should, so. The point being, it’s all fun and normal good things to want to do to your best friend.
He thumbs through some menus with his free hand, and his Sim obediently brings his fingers up to Gordon’s bits. “i could wear you like a puppet, bud,” he sighs into the microphone.
“What the— ohhh God, okay,” warbles Gordon, “okay, okay. Yeah. Fuck. Do it, fucking do it, just— be careful, okay, it’s been awhile and I don’t know how I’m gonna—”
A blunt finger slips into Gordon’s hole without resistance, forcing him into a gasp. A second fits in just as well. He takes them so easy, and he makes such a sweet sound, and Benrey can’t help but jerk himself off a little harder. He’s so pretty. It’s stupid how pretty he is. It kind of pisses him off.
“pretty,” says Benrey, “stupid… pretty boy… gordon’s number one at the horsey gamesss…”
He’s not coherent, but he’s so weirdly earnest about his fucked up compliment that it makes Gordon feel warm from the inside out. Everything’s making him feel too fucking warm. The air’s too humid and heavy on his skin, and every lick gets him hotter and hotter, winding him up, making him tense, making his fucking hip lock up just the same as it would outside his computer, which is horseshit, and Benrey’s free hand is hot as a brand where it squeezes his hip, and he’s sweating and arching and grinding into it and he feels like—
Like he could kick Benrey when the animation snaps into something different again, jerking him out of the moment. “What are you doing?! Keep going!”
“sorry, i’m sorry,” Benrey whines, but Gordon thinks he sounds more defensive than anything. “i’m trying to fix it.”
Gordon’s stomach swoops as he instantly snaps into a position on hands and knees. He instinctively yelps and falls over a little. But before he can process where he’s at, he jerks again, and he’s back where he was, legs spread open for Benrey. Who resumes what he was doing like nothing happened.
“there we go,” murmurs Benrey. He plunges three fingers in Gordon in one firm motion.
Gordon moans so openly that it embarrasses him. But the more primal lobes of his brain jerk the wheel out of the hand of his ego, chasing after an animalistic pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes,” he babbles, “keep doing that— oh, fuck!”
He pumps his fingers in and out like clockwork, filling the air with wet, unapologetically filthy noises, and sucks Gordon’s dick into his mouth in time with the movement. Gordon lets his legs fall open entirely in a desperate bid to get him closer. Deeper. He glances down, acutely aware of how fucked up his face is gonna look from this angle with his chin and neck all smushed, but Benrey doesn’t seem to give a shit. He just stares back at Gordon with those impenetrable black eyes.
Gordon clenches, hard. Benrey’s fingers push up somewhere deep inside him, and he feels something bright and clear and, weirdly, like he has to piss, but in a good way. There’s no other way he can put it.
“Whatever the fuck that was, do it again,” he says helplessly, fucking Benrey’s open mouth. It makes his hips grind into Benrey’s hand. An unintended consequence. “I don’t know how you’re do-oooing this shit! You’re gonna fuck me up, man, you’re getting me hooked on cyberpleasure and I’m never gonna be able to cum again—”
“who cares,” Benrey cuts him off. In the background, Gordon hears the slick, rapid sound of his hand moving. “i’m gonna make you… hhh… gonna make you cum buckerts. and you’re gonna like it.”
Another clench. He can feel where it forces Benrey’s fingers together. “You have got to work on your d-dirty talk!”
The animation repeats. Benrey’s hands and mouth move in the exact same patterns, broad laps of his tongue transitioning to sharper flicks again like he didn’t already tell Benrey to knock that shit off. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too uncanny.
“gets you hot,” he hears from between his legs, “fuckin’, works on you. you like my goofy ass.”
Gordon’s heart flutters, and an unfamiliar feeling cracks open in his chest. Like jealousy and need and heartache and a bunch of other maudlin crap all tied up together. “I do,” he blurts out, making it worse, “I do like you, and it makes me feel fucking deranged, and— and I had no idea I could even feel like this!”
He hears Benrey breathing harder into the microphone. Quick grunts and rushes of static. In his mind’s eye, he can see it, Benrey all hunched over and stroking himself off between a finger and thumb. Slick drips out of Gordon at the thought. A drop in the bucket, really - he’s made a total mess out of himself, with slick already smeared all over his thighs and staining the sheets underneath.
“…want you,” mumbles Benrey. “i want you so bad. i’m gonna fuckin’— blow up. blow up the… twin towers—”
The laugh that bursts out of Gordon borders on hysterical.
Benrey’s fingers work him open, curling them up and pressing hard on each stroke. His pinky toys with the outer folds before squeezing in alongside them. There’s a stretch, but it’s— it’s good, Benrey’s hands are pretty small, okay, and they fit. Like a glove.
Something jerks below his navel. “I’m close,” Gordon warbles suddenly. He’s stretched wide open, exposed for what he is: a slimy and helpless thing, like a worm, left vulnerable in the sun. And he’s so desperate to come that he won’t even ask to be put back in the dirt.
“yeah, man?” It’s dark with intent. “i can do whatever i want in this game. i could— i could make him stop.”
“Don’t!”
“you gotta be polite. ask nice, gordon. got my finger on the button.”
“Please,” he wails, “don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop, I’m so close!”
The pressure’s building in his belly, his core’s tensing in giddy anticipation as Benrey licks the shaft of his aching dick like a dog. It’s sloppy. Filthy. It’s obscene. And the embarrassment of it all - Gordon’s shameless begging and and his stupid little confession and the unavoidable sound of sex - only gets him hotter. Higher and higher.
“yeah,” pants Benrey, “i got you, i’m gonna— fuuuck, man, i wanna fuck you. this thing’s big enough, i could— i bet i could put it in you.”
Gordon groans so loud it surprises even himself. He could. He could push his slick, hard clit into Gordon’s hole and use him like a toy. He could grind their pussies together, wet folds on wet folds, the gayest and most weirdly fulfilling thing Gordon’s ever fantasized about.
“Please,” he begs again. “You could, I’d let you— Oh God, I think I’m gonna—”
“c’mon, gordonnn,” taunts Benrey, “come for me. bet you can’t.”
His voice ratchets higher and higher until he shoves a hand in his mouth to muffle himself. But it doesn’t stop him from wailing around it, back arching, fingers tightening in the sheets, hotter and brighter and closer and closer and—
It slams into him like a bus. His back arches, chasing it and fucking desperately into it. He howls into his fist and bites down hard on the meat of his palm. Ears ringing. Vision blank. A sensory deprivation tank, blotting out everything except that white-hot scream of pleasure. Like diving headlong into the sun.
Gordon floats. Slowly his senses return to him. First a light hiss as the tinnitus fades out. Then the sound of his own labored breathing. Sweat cooling on his skin. He unclenches his jaw, revealing an angry red ring of bite marks on his hand. It hurts.
“Wha,” he says, dizzy.
“hey, buddy.” Benrey’s voice is soft. Like he’s recognizing a situation and responding to it appropriately. Crazy. “are you alive?”
“Huh,” he says again.
Benrey’s not in him anymore. He’s awkwardly seated on the bed, and Benrey’s fingers - the big ones, the player character ones - pinch him around his middle and his arms in an effort to pose his Sim. Gordon can only dizzily blink up at him.
“couldn’t find the… the after,” Benrey says, distracted. He delicately arranges his Sim so that it’s lying next to Gordon, pressed against him a little, but the face is blank and unmoving, set back to a default expression. Weirdly enough, when he’s up this close (and Gordon’s not distracted by other things), he notices that Benrey’s irises arent actually black. Just a deep, dark brown.
Gordon shudders. “Can you… can you do something about him?”
“i had to turn him off so i can put him in the right spot. the animations weren’t good. they’re all fuckin’ and suckin’.”
He doesn’t have a choice but to look at Benrey’s blank face and floppy limbs until he’s satisfied. There’s an arm slung over his chest and a finger trailing down his sternum, carefully nudged into position. And then Benrey snaps back to life.
“Hey,” Gordon says weakly.
“don’t move. i gotta get my pictures.”
“Seriously?”
It didn’t occur to him that Benrey would be taking screenshots of him, but he’s too wiped to be mad or weirded out. It’s almost kind of sweet. Something for Benrey to take back with him, he supposes.
“Don’t you wanna,” he starts, gesturing lazily. “You know. Have me return the favor?”
“nah. i’m good. i jerked my shit like a fuckin’ ape.”
“That’s great, man.” He closes his eyes. Guess it makes sense - it’s not really Benrey in front of him, but a wind-up toy that Benrey made for him. In so many words. So if he already got his rocks off, what’s the point in watching more? It’s a nice toy, though. Very lifelike. He’s warm where he’s flopped over Gordon’s chest, and he’s got a lazy, smug smile on his face.
“You know, I-I haven’t come like that in, like… my entire life,” Gordon admits. “Is that real? Or am I hooked?”
“you’re done for. cooked. you’re gonna beg me to come back in here and get your fix.”
Gordon laughs, nervous. “Hey, are you joking? I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
Like Benrey’s one to talk. He built this entire house for Gordon, 2 bedroom, 3 bath, a picket fence and a double-wide garage, just to have another sick little game to play with him. A taste of domesticity. He might as well just get on his knees and pop the question.
Gordon’s content to lay there in a haze, halfway falling asleep, but Benrey interrupts him by loudly clearing his throat.
“so, uh. how do i get you back out of there,” he asks.