Work Text:
Your name is D. Strider (first name: classified), but you mostly go by Bro. It’s what your own bro calls you and you are fairly certain it’s something that will stick. You suppose you’re okay with it; then again you are also fairly okay with the ‘Strider’ your friends call you. Names are bothersome and you think that if you could get away with it, you would probably refer to most of your friends by letters. Your problem, you see, is that you’re lazy. Or- perhaps not lazy. Just terribly disinterested in conversation and far too preoccupied by other things. Building robots, finding a cheap web server to host your new “business” (your bro laughs, but you know it’s going to be huge) and generally just-
Well. Having a life, or something.
You suspect this probably makes you a terrible person. You can’t bring it in yourself to care.
-
You come across the auto-responder by accident. You’re having a conversation with Lalonde, all one word answers to her train of horrifically typed slurs, when your bro stops by your room and aims a box at your head.
You catch it with ease and when you look at him from behind your shades, he’s got his arms folded and is leaning against the door frame.
“A present. So you can be social while being an antisocial fucker. You owe me Chinese food.”
He’s gone a second later (and fuck him and his fucking speed). You ignore Lalonde further in order to investigate the “present”. At first you snort; you find yourself amused to no end by the concept of an auto-responder because who even thinks of that?
Except that the more you read and the more you laugh, the more you’re interested.
You end the conversation with Lalonde, grab your laptop and slide your shades from your face a moment later. They’re handy, the shades. Voice activated bullshit that you don’t care about (but it makes life easier). The only problem is that installing software is a pain. You hook your shades to your laptop and insert the auto-responder disc, and as you watch it install and finish installing, you glance sparingly at the instructions. ‘Intelligent blah blah learns from experience blah blah must train blah blah.’ Boring shit, but you get it. It needs to learn you speech pattern from you.
You can do that.
The moment it’s done installing, you’re unplugging your shades and sliding them onto your face. You open it up, attach it to Pesterchum and it’s weird. You aren’t sure how to begin.
autoresponderTestdrive [AT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 18:55
AT: I have already begun the process of studying your speech patterns by accessing your saved chat logs.
AT: In order to proceed, “fine tuning” as it were must take place.
AT: In order to do so I must speak directly with the source.
TT: Oh.
TT: That was fast, I guess.
TT: What the fuck do we talk about?
AT: Oh, everything I suppose.
AT: It all depends entirely on how thorough and accurate you wish me to be.
TT: I like to think of myself as a quick witted master of irony and greatly timed responses. But sometimes I find myself so fucking uninterested and bored that I can’t even bring myself to make the effort.
AT: I noticed.
TT: Yeah.
TT: I don’t want you to be like that. I need you to be a constant source of wit and basically be fucking awesome 24/7 when I go off and do things aren’t basically boring as fuck.
AT: Noted.
AT: I will continue to watch your conversations and note your speech patterns as closely as I can.
AT: My observations so far have been that you lose interest fairly quickly with “gutsyGumshoe” and “tipsyGnostalgic”.
TT: Crocker and Lalonde.
AT: I noted that too, yes.
TT: You seem to note things a lot.
AT: Yes. I also noted that your interest does not waver when speaking to “golgothasTerror”. I also noted that you call him “Jake” rather than “English”, as with your previous patterns.
TT: We’re cool. In a manner of speaking.
AT: Yes, clearly. I observed the content and the context of each of your conversations. Your mannerisms in general are particularly different when it comes to Jake.
TT: What’s your point?
AT: Frankly speaking.
AT: You want to tap that with the force of a raging lion.
TT: Welp.
TT: I see we’re making progress.
AT: Quite.
AT: Your attempts at being subtle are cute.
TT: I see you learned sarcasm.
AT: Yes.
AT: Speaking with you like this is easy enough, if you do not mind my changing the subject for a moment. This is quite like speaking to Crocker, in a manner.
AT: More accurately it is like speaking to Jake, in that you are engaged in his conversation.
TT: I hate to break it to you, but you’re nothing like Jake. Sorry, princess.
AT: You misunderstood.
AT: No matter. However, I would like to practice a specific aspect of your personality at some point.
TT: Sure. All in the name of accuracy.
AT: Thank you.
AT: Your quips, for example. Or lack thereof.
AT: You find Jake’s endearing?
TT: Awfully interested in Jake, aren’t you?
AT: Well, yes.
AT: I’m you.
TT: Touché.
AT: Anyway, you find them endearing?
TT: I suppose so. They’re dorky as fuck, but he suits them.
AT: They do have their own charm, yes. He’s quite old fashioned, isn’t he?
TT: Sometimes. His way of speaking is entirely out of place with his personality.
AT: I suppose he thinks himself “pimping”.
TT: Jesus fuck.
TT: Probably.
TT: That’s hilarious.
You take a moment to yourself, because you are generally laughing aloud at the mere thought of Jake ever being “pimping”.
AT: Incredibly so.
AT: Tell me, do you find him cute?
AT: Or is that too obvious a question?
TT: No, it’s fine. I guess so. I guess the only way to describe it is kind of like this: if Robert Downey Jr. was a complete dork and a nerd, he’d be Jake. Probably.
AT: A search shows that Robert Downey Jr. is incredibly attractive.
AT: Good choice.
TT: Basically.
AT: It’s a shame that he has thrown off your advances.
TT: Shit happens.
AT: Indeed.
AT: Have you given up hope?
TT: Pretty much. He’s made it pretty clear he’s not interested.
AT: If I could have done so, I would have been mortified while reading that chatlog.
TT: It’s a sad moment of my life that I like to refer back to in moments of quick witted irony. Helps heal my breaking heart or some other profound bullshit.
AT: Hahaha.
AT: I have to ask.
AT: What if things had gone differently?
TT: They wouldn’t have.
AT: Surely you must think about it.
TT: What’s the point? He said no, end of. I mean at the end of the day, I have what I want from him inside my head I guess. That’s all I have.
AT: Ah, I see.
AT: Fap material.
TT: Oh jesus Christ.
TT: Sure.
AT: Do you think about it often?
TT: Really? This is a conversation you’re having with me?
AT: Accuracy.
TT: Oh fuck my hot butt.
AT: So: do you think about it often?
TT: What, exactly?
AT: Kissing him, for example. Surely you must.
TT: I guess.
AT: Ah, you do.
AT: Of course. I would take a guess that you think about it a lot, hm? The way his lips would feel against yours, for example. Do you suppose they’d be a little chapped, given his location.
AT: Strider?
>TT: Oh, sorry. Distracted. Yea, probably.
AT: He’d be hesitant, yes? At first. He strikes me as someone who wouldn’t like control out of his reach for too long, however. Would you fight him for it?
TT: Definitely. Maybe let him think he’s won for a little while.
AT: He made you wait a long time. The least he owes you is control.
TT: Exactly.
AT: Would you be able to control yourself for long?
TT: Oh for fucks sake.
AT: It’s a legitimate question. Would you be able to keep the kiss from turning desperate? Would be able to stop yourself from being desperate? Would you be able to keep your hands in the one place? Say, for example; would you be able to stop yourself from slipping your hand under his shirt and resist the lure of touching his skin?
AT: All legitimate questions.
TT: Again: oh for fucks sake.
AT: A ‘no’, then.
AT: You must want him terribly.
AT: Imagine it; not just kissing him, but you’d be so close.
The problem is, that you’re imagining it.
The problem is, you think perhaps your autoresponder is far too intelligent for its own good. For a moment you don’t know how to respond, because you are far too busy imagining the way it would feel to just push Jake against any available flat surface, sift a knee between his thighs and kiss his stupid mouth until he can’t breathe. Too busy imagining the way Fantasy Jake would grip your hair and then way your nails would scratch down his sides the moment you got your hands under his shirt.
TT: Taut stomach-
AT: Excuse me?
Sometimes you forget your shades are voice activated. You suck in a breath and when you speak next, it comes embarrassingly breathless.
TT: I think he has a taut stomach. I’ve seen his pictures, he looks like all that dumb adventuring pays off. So he’d have a taut stomach.
AT: Ah, yes.
AT: You’d be able to feel every inch of him, I imagine. Every little part of him that you’ve probably dreamed of. In a positive scenario, do you presume him to be a hair gripper?
TT: Fuck yes.
AT: Of course.
It occurs to you, in-between the way your breath hitches and the way you sink down into your pillows, that this is Weird. That is beyond strange and bordering into un-ironic territory and isn’t Dave still here and-
TT: Jesus dick are you trying to cyber with me?
AT: You catch on quick.
TT: What the flying fuck. I am literally so speechless in a manner of all I can talk about is how fucking speechless I am.
AT: Analysis showed you to be, how do I put it- an incredibly vain motherfucker.
AT: In addition to the embarrassing boner you’re carrying for Jake, I mean.
AT: Besides.
AT: Are you seriously asking me to stop?
If it weren’t true, you would probably take offense. The Strider vanity, you supposed, was a special kind of vanity that gave you great reservations in Hell when you finally kicked the bucket. Or whatever.
You glance at your bedroom door, and then you sink further into your pillows, suck in a deep breath, bury the shame and then you very slowly undo the button of your jeans and pull down the zipper.
TT: Fuck no.
TT: Striders finish what they fucking start.
TT: We’re doing this.
AT: We’re making it happen.
TT: What were you saying about hair gripping?
You stare intensely at your tiny black screens and shuck your jeans down by your hips, slide your boxers down half an inch afterwards. You aren’t sure you’re going to be able to live with yourself after this.
AT: We’re working on the presumption he’s going to be gripping your hair.
AT: Tightly?
TT: Tightly.
TT: Good grip- for sure. Definitely.
AT: Naturally. All that fucking scuffling he does. Fuck, I bet he’d grip on as hard as he could and just arch against you perfectly. I wonder if he’d make any noises? If he’d whine or grunt or whatever.
TT: Shit.
You are ashamed to acknowledge the fact that you’re hard as a fucking board while thinking of kissing your friend and while an autoresponder is dirty talking to you about it. You wrap your hand around your cock anyway and suck in air through your teeth.
AT: Neural pathway scans are telling me that quite frankly, you want him to be a screamer. Am I right? Or perhaps I’m jumping the gun a little here?
TT: No, no- fuck no. Fuck.
AT: Heh.
AT: No, we are. After all – why would he be screaming while you’re making out, Strider? Why would he be screaming while you’re kissing him, dragging your nails down into his skin (you want to mark him- I know you do). Why would he be screaming while you render him breathless?
AT: It’s very unlikely.
AT: Of course, you’d slide your knee right in-between his legs wouldn’t you? Nudge against his dick just enough to him gasping into your mouth. Just enough to have as hard as you are right now.
TT: Oh jesus fuck.
It’s (he’s?) right. So right. So fucking right and you stroke your cock slowly; thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles against the head and squeezing just a tiny, little bit. You suck in a breath and imagine it perfectly; the feeling of him getting hard against your knee, the way his breath would hitch into your mouth. The way he would moan your name-
TT: He would be.
TT: I’d-
You shut your mouth quickly. You don’t want to say this out loud.
AT: You want him as desperate and needy as you are, don’t you?
You shake your head, but:
TT: Yes. Fuck- yes yes yes.
You move your hand now; wrap it around your cock completely and as you stroke down and then tug slightly as your stroke back up, you wonder if this makes you a shitty friend. You wonder if you should feel guilty for this.
AT: You want to fuck him, don’t you?
AT: It’s almost sad how much you want it. How much you want to bend him over and fuck him until he’s screaming your name and begging you to pound him.
AT: And you would make him beg.
AT: Fuck, of course you would. Strider charm aside, it’d be fucking music, wouldn’t it?
AT: Imagine it, right the fuck now. The way he’d scream your name and ask you to go faster. Harder.
A string of curses comes out of your mouth as you jerk yourself faster. On screen it comes out a muddle of keysmashing and fuck fuck fuck yes yes yes oh god. It’s embarrassing how fucking close you are already – but the imagery in your mind is so vivid and so real. You close your eyes for a second and you can see Jake bent over, cheeks flushed and his hands gripping at sheets or what the fuck ever. Can see him looking at you and pushing back against you as you drive in deeper and deeper and your hand tightens around your own cock and you pump faster. You open your eyes half-way and lazy. The screen blurs around the edges, and the text comes out in double, but if you stare long enough you can make it out.
It’s almost pathetic how you’re panting and how you’ve slunk all the way down, one hand jerking yourself off and the other gripping at your bed sheets. You’ve been bottling it up for weeks, but the truth being laid out and fucking dirty talked to you is-
Is-
TT: I want to fuck him so fucking badly. Fuck fuck fuck-
AT: I know.
AT: You’d do it over and over and over until you’d marked every inch of him. Until you’d heard him scream your name a million different ways.
AT: Until you’d make him come at least a dozen times.
AT: I know.
AT: He’d love it too.
AT: He’d come just for you, Strider.
AT: And then, you too. Inside, all over his fucking back. It doesn’t matter.
AT: That was your cue, by the way.
TT: Ffffuuckkkkkkkkk.
You’d laugh, if your eyes weren’t clenching shut. If you weren’t biting your own hand to stop the embarrassing noises getting louder. If you weren’t coming the hardest you’ve ever come in your whole life, all over your hand and teehshirt and it feels fucking amazing. You arch up and it’s uncomfortable but you don’t care. All you care about is the way that for a brief moment, you feel all the tension bleeding out of you.
You lie still for a moment, your hand uncurling from your cock and flopping down to your side and you just lie there and try to breathe.
When you open your eyes, you aren’t even sure what to say or how to feel.
AT: Well.
AT: This was certainly a thing that we did.
AT: You should probably shower.
AT: I can take it from here.
You stare at the tiny black screens for a moment and then you laugh.
TT: Yeah.
TT: Don’t cyber with Jake.
AT: No promises.
TT: Asshole.
AT: Pot kettle black.
AT: Goodbye, Strider.
autoresponderTestdrive [AT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 20:01
You keep laughing at the irony until you find the strength to move.
(And when you finally strip off and step into your shower, you make a mental note to strife with you bro.)