LEO'S DESIRE: THE FIRST TASTE
Leo pushed himself on the weights until his muscles screamed, a desperate attempt to burn the image from his mind of what happened in that alleyway.
All he could see was the alley. The deliberate, knowing glance from his classmate, what was his name? It’s gone now just before the latex had taken him.
And then that… that other one with the SERVE-302 across its chest. The one who had initiated the contact, whose perfect, impassive face had been the last thing the man had seen before bliss consumed him.
Leo ends his workout and goes into the locker to shower and change.
The steam from the shower couldn't cleanse him. Leo braced his hands against the cool tile, head bowed under the spray, water going over his head and down his trembling back.
Leo squeezed his eyes shut. I didn’t like it. I didn’t. The heat crawling up his neck was shame, not excitement. The tightness in his chest was disgust, not yearning. He chanted it in his head, a futile mantra against the truth.
He scrubbed at his skin with his hands, but beneath the soap and steam, a different scent seemed to linger. A sharp, clean, ozonic smell. Like the air after lightning. Like rubber. The imagined pheromones of the Drone. It was in his nose, in his lungs, a ghost that wouldn’t leave.
He twisted the knob,and the water shut off with a sudden, echoing creak. Silence, broken only by the drip from the showerhead and the pounding of his own heart. He pulled back the curtain, reaching for his towel on the hook.
Standing directly outside the open stall, perfectly still, was SERVE-302.
Water dripped from Leo’s hair onto his shoulders. He was exposed, vulnerable, steam curling off his skin. The Drone was a statue of obsidian perfection, its muscles glow a soft, unwavering cyan in the humid locker room air. It had been waiting.
Leo’s breath hitched, a sharp, audible inhale of the pheromones coming off of the thing infront of him. The musk was very masculine but it was also pleasant.
302’s head tilted, a precise, mechanical degree. It had registered the sound and the intentional want and need from him the deep inhale, the looks, 302 gave it ample time to vacate but it knows that look. That was all the signs it needed it took a single, smooth step forward, entering the boys space. The proximity was overwhelming. Leo could see his own terrified, wide-eyed reflection in the flawless latex of its chest.
It's hand makes contact with the back of his head a voice, a calm, synthetic baritone, filled the small space. It was not loud. It was final.
“It senses the craving. The conflict.”
302’s hand came up, not with violence, but with an inevitable certainty. Its cool, smooth fingers framed Leo’s jaw, tilting his face up. Leo didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His body was locked, a wire pulled taut between terror and a desperate, starving need.
“A taste will guide you.”
302 leaned down. Its lips were smooth but warm. They met Leo’s, and the world dissolved into static. It was a kiss of pure, focused intent. As their mouths connected, a cool, viscous fluid nanite-infused saline, tasting of metal and ozone flowed from 302 into Leo’s. It was not an assimilation, but an implantation of a trial, a taste. A key turning in a long-locked door.
Leo’s knees buckled, but 302’s other arm snaked around his back, holding him upright. He didn’t pull away. He melted into the kiss, a soft, surrendering whimper lost in the transfer. The chaotic noise in his mind hushed, replaced by a single, crystalline point of focus: this. This certainty. This peace. This strength.
After a moment that felt like an eternity and an instant, 302 broke the contact. It stepped back, to look at him. Leo was brought back to reality infront of him for a second, supported by 302 holding him up, the nanite-laced saliva a cool trail down his throat and all over his mouth and hands. A taste he was hesitant to welcoming at first but is glad it did. Thats when it hit him that feeling from the kiss to 302 and the liquid. the taste of obedience and resolve.
302 stood watching him experience the pleasure that came from obedience. The boys first act of obedience was accepting the kiss.
Then, without another word, it turned and walked out of the locker room, its job done needing only to offer a taste to the needy boy who was too conflicted to accept who he truly was.
Leo came down from the high, trembling not with fear, but with revelation. He brought a hand to his lips. The craving finally admitted to, a craving that hadn't been satisfied.
It had been defined. And it was hungry for more.
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