Work Text:
The first time was a simple curiosity. Forearm flat against the surface of the window, he was completely nude, looking out to the blanket of snow and frozen lake, jerking his cock, biting his lip. He caught the glint of his own eye in the transparent reflection. He instinctually looked away, something like embarrassment bubbled in him before he reminded himself he was completely alone – and even if he wasn’t, morality and ego, he reminded himself, were subjective. He looked back to the soft reflection, eyes having a hard time focusing between it and the scenery, but he caught glimpses of himself, his face flush and hair mussed, the look in his own eyes as he gazed blankly. It was erotic, certainly, and before long he closed his eyes, cum splattering the window. He looked down at himself, typically another instinctual, human reaction, but this time he didn’t just look to look. He observed himself and watched his reflection move the exact same way, though obscured by his mess.
He took to looking at his reflection more often in the windows when he felt particularly exhibitionistic. However, in the dead of night when he looked out to the gleam of Detroit’s city limits so far away, he could see his reflection so much clearer. He parted his lips, staring at his own eyes, forehead against the glass before pressing most of his body against his, a particularly carnal need in him to touch skin as he masturbated. He craned his neck to kiss the glass in silent mockery of Narcissus and Dorian Gray. He let his free hand wander himself, pinching his nipple – of course he’s done so before, explore himself, but it was different when he watched himself do it, specifically reveling that the touch was his own instead of pretending it wasn’t. He could see his tongue dart across his lips, the fervent look in his own eyes, the way his chest moved as he breathed a little heavier.
He pressed himself a little harder against the glass, cheek flat to it, tongue out to taste the window pane, his hot breath creating a thin fog against it. A quiet moan escaped him. He didn’t need to feign dignity here, in the dark confinement of his own home. He lived out here for a reason, in the midst of a hard-to-get-to, hard-to-find nowhere. The glass didn’t taste like anything except an unfortunate lingering of cleaner used sometime in the morning, but to pretend he was tasting his own tongue was enough to bring him to cum, once again painting a rorschach on the window. As he leaned against it, he shoved away was left the shame his subconscious wanted him to feel as he knelt down and pressed his tongue to the glass, lapping up his cum. He lingered on it before using his fingers or the rest, tasting his sweat and seed. He determined what he wanted, and would certainly get to work on it.
In that time however, he became a little more adventurous. He replaced the wide, full-length windows in his bedroom with mirror – at least, he could control whether they were mirrors or windows by a mechanism that faded or filled the glass, and certainly he used it. The bathroom mirrors were too small, but this, he could sit in his chair, spread-legged, watching himself get off to himself. He was elated by the egotism, fingers in his own mouth as he sucked on them, spreading his legs to press his then-wet fingers inside, watching every motion, glancing back to his own face. He thought about every motion, scissoring and stretching.
His mind wandered, however, thinking about the processes he needed to do, to get what he really wanted – he would need mould and resin, bring his sculpting tools back to the surface, so much needed to be done yet, but he was always the perfectionist. His patience was strong.
He stroked himself in time with fingering himself, his wrist beginning to grow a little sore at the strain of curling his fingers in deeper, hissing at that particular sweet spot, prodding it again and again, building up pressure before he came over himself. He made eye contact with himself in the reflection, clear as day, bright lights showing just how pale he was, how dark his hair had gotten. Solitude refined him. He used his fingers to scoop the milky fluid, watching himself bring it to his mouth, slowly, closing his lips around them, tongue between them, working them back and forth. He wished he could suck himself off. He wasn’t nearly flexible enough to try it the usual way.
He got to work on building a perfect reflection of himself, despite he hated the moulding and shaping process, the heavy plaster he had to wear on himself. Despite the mantra he said often to himself, have no shame, have no shame, he did feel his cheeks burn on occasion in the middle of working on the bioware, connecting, and recoding, all too aware of what he was doing. He was determined to see it through, however. It was no different than having made any of the previous sex androids, only that it was his own image (though he would never admit that in his earlier twenty-somethings that, too, made him blush). He quieted that nagging in his mind, touching the android’s face, the rest of its body still being shaped, internal components exposed from the shoulders down.
He pulled away to cover the android’s head with a cloth for his own sake, working to piece together the rest of it.
Between his work, and between plaster sessions, he spent time intimately getting to know himself. Hands wandering his own arms, legs, abdomen, finding every small blemish, every line that made him. He already started to feel hot under his own skin, touching himself before sliding a hand down his front over his toned muscle, down to his groin to grasp his length, thumb feeling along the vein. He wiped his hand on his hip, walking to his closet to pull out a body-length mirror, dragging it over. He placed it just a ways from the window-mirror, angling it just right so he could look at his back. He stretched, peacocking for just himself, head tilted and chest puffed, arms behind his head and hips jutted just slightly, mimicking Hermes of Praxiteles. He looked to the ripples of muscle along his back – not obscenely over-worked, but certainly sculpted like Grecian art, accentuated by the pallor of his own marble skin.
He’d need to paint every freckle, every vein, in just the right color. He hoped he could remember how. But if not, he can always relearn. The lighting cast a faint shadow across his back, soft around the edges, and he shifted, watching it dance over his form. He undid his hairtie, sliding fingers through his black hair, smoothing it out, and tucking one side behind his ear. He wanted to blanket himself in his own touch, hands sliding down his sides, over the ridges of his muscles, down his hips and to his groin, holding himself, soft and flaccid.
His work was slow, but after every small completion, after every joint set in place, he felt accomplished. He marveled as skin washed over the pale white-and-gray android, painting over its angular face, delicate eyelashes, hair perfectly in place. Kamski reached out to touch his creation, literally in his own image, the pads of his fingers pressing into its soft silicone neck, down to its collar bone. He lingered at the dip, pinky circling for a moment. It lay on his table pure, untouched, and unclothed. And by God did Kamski want to defile it.
He pressed its temple, where an LED would have been – Kamski decided it would mar its perfect face, set it too far apart from himself. It fluttered open its eyes and sat up, turning its head to look at Kamski, legs sliding over the edge of the table.
“Register name.”
The android sat up a little straighter, its piercing blue eyes so captivating.
“Elijah,” he breathed, his name delicious on his own tongue.
“My name is Elijah.”
Its face was a perfect recreation, down to its expression, the quirk of its brow and lifted chin.
Kamski was eager.
Boyish superiority filled him, smiling as he stared at the android’s lips. “Narcissus wished he could do this,” he said to no one in particular. His hands on the android felt over its arms, shoulders, and down its front, trailing slowly over every part, every invisible seam he knew was there, and the android responded so well with its head tilted, eyes closed, and lips parted. Kamski leaned forward, capturing the android’s lips, and god it felt so soft to kiss himself, nothing fit more perfectly than his mirror image. His breath shuddered and brows furrowed, a terribly deep need growing in his belly. His teeth fell to the android’s throat, and it moaned like him, the same voice he recorded, in perfect clarity, not a single pop of static. How far would he debase himself? Kamski was completely willing to test that.
He mouthed the android’s soft cock, not bothering to take it from outside his workspace, the solid white of the room lit them both. He stroked it, thumb pressing just into the frenulum, his androidic clone gasped, its hand digging into Kamski’s hair.
Kamski both wanted to be used and to use it. He took in the head of its sculpted cock, sucking lightly there first, a shallow bob coupled with the working of his hand. The android’s cock grew hard, filling his mouth as he downed more of its shaft greedily, back and forth, taking in more each time until his nose brushed against its groin, perfectly smooth, just the way he scaped himself. He had no time nor folliful need to prove himself, the android’s cock though modest in size was still exactly his own. He clawed at its hips, the android stood and began to buck into him, shoving its cock down Kamski’s throat, the obscene, wet sound filled the room along with Kamski’s half-gags. He clutched the android’s perfectly shaped derrière, kneading its globes, kneeling on the hard floor, and taking in as much as he could before finally pulling away, spit dribbling down his chin and off his copied cock.
He stood, wiping his mouth and looking into his own eyes.
“We’re going to my room.”
The android smiled, exactly the way he programmed it to. It was a leftover program from an HR400, but one that was adjusted to fit Kamski’s slight-yet-wolfish features. Kamski grabbed its arm, pulling it from the lab, marching through his home to get to his bedroom, and he cursed himself for not having made the lab just a few feet closer with how badly his pants restrained him. He didn’t bother shutting the door behind him – it wasn’t as if Chloe was even capable of minding him. He tore away his shirt, stepped out of his pants, kicking them away, and grabbed the android by its hands to tug it in front of his mirror. He stood there for a moment, heartbeat quick and breath shallow. His hands grabbed the back of the android’s neck, pulling it in for a deep and sloppy series of kisses, tongue prodding excitedly and impatiently. He couldn’t get enough, especially as it groaned into his mouth at the exact time he did, in the exact way he did. It almost made his knees buckle just by how infatuated he was with his own frame, sliding down its arms as it held onto his waist to bring him closer, flush against one another.
He pushed it against the mirror, unfurling its hair – fuck the details – and as he grabbed and pulled its hair, it grabbed back at him, surprising Kamski despite that it’s exactly what he programmed it to do. The android braced itself, mouth ajar as Kamski sucked on its neck. It wrapped its arms around Kamski’s waist, slotting him against its body, perfectly made for each other, their hips ground together. Like an animal, Kamski rutted hard against it, claiming its mouth again with a hot tongue down its throat. It continued to respond so perfectly, matching his pace, his fervent shamelessness as it sucked on his tongue, meeting against his hips, grinding their bodies together. Kamski’s sweat made him stick to its silicone body, but he didn’t mind as he braced a hand against the mirror, smearing a print into it as it began to fog from his breath and heat.
“Hold me down,” Kamski ordered, voice low against his android’s plastic skin.
The android did exactly as it was told, grabbing Kamski’s wrists to twirl elegantly behind him, and pinning him face first against the mirror. Kamski’s cheek pressed into the glass, condensation rolling down where he breathed. He watched the reflection of his android, such a perfect face, come close to his, simply lingering. He first kissed his own reflection in the mirror, lips smearing, before capturing the android’s mouth again, blissful noises erupting from him as he felt the android’s perfectly shaped cock slide into him with more ease than he initially thought, thankful he made androids self-lubricate down the line.
“How much further do you want to go?” it asked. Its deep voice a perfect echo of Kamski’s, sending shivers down his back.
“We’re going to fuck, breathe, and moan and that’s all I want from you until I tell you to stop.”
It bit him in the shoulder, steely eyes staring at Kamski through the reflection as it moved, cradling Kamski’s form, hands pressed over its creator’s against the glass.
It licked the shell of a now-red ear, nibbling as it thrust its hips, meeting Kamski’s backward bucks.
“Say our name, creator,” it beckoned. That wasn’t a part of its programming.
Kamski was quiet for a moment, biting his tongue to prevent any lewd noises, just for the time being, until he figured he didn’t care about this android’s minor deviancy – he can fix it later. He watched himself in the mirror, forehead against the pane, careful not to hurt himself, forearms sliding to brace himself better. The android copied him, blanketed over him entirely, snug and warm and filthy with its languid stare and devilish tongue teasing his ear, earring, and jawline.
“Say our name,” it begged.
“God, Elijah,” he finally moaned. “Elijah,” it was like a sweet honey dripping from his tongue. “Elijah.”
The android gasped blissfully, “That’s so good, Elijah,” it told him. This wasn’t its programming. But Elijah Kamski couldn’t bring himself to care, lost in a rapture wrapped up in himself, the copy’s hands around his cock as they both breathed, sighed, moaned, all at the same time, between each huff of breath a quiet mantra, Elijah, god Elijah. It made Kamski’s head spin how far too good this was – a brilliant idea he should have had sooner, no boundaries, no morals, no one to think low of him (as much as he prided himself in, well, pride, he hated nothing more than judgement). But there was no one here to judge him but himself, a new splatter on the window, sweat stains and synched up breathing, he could even feel the android’s heartbeat match his own against his back. It kissed his shoulder and licked the bruise it made from its bite.
“We’re disgusting,” it said. It shouldn’t say that.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kamski replied. “No one will stop us.”
He laughed airily and so did the android. It took up his hand, lightly tugging him. Kamski’s smile faded. It shouldn’t do that, either. He followed anyway, towards the bed – it knew exactly what he wanted, and this was Elijah’s next thought to the letter, to be pushed against the bed, teeth sinking in his skin, just pure admiration as fingers traced his figure. He closed his eyes, letting himself be serviced by his new toy. He can deal with its processor later. But for now his narcissism needed pampering, and his echo will do just that.