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coin operated boy

Summary:

alois learns to turn on autopilot
(NOT A SHOTACON/FETISH FANFICTION)

Notes:

HELLO !! thank you for being interested in my writing :) i wanted to clarify that this isn't meant to be pornographic or like... fetishy/kinky in any way. i write horror, and the things i portray here are supposed to be disturbing rather than arousing. please don't leave any comments of that nature!

Work Text:

alois laid on his back, allowing his entire body to go limp atop the old man's silk covered king size bed. usually, he was playful or at least verbal, but there is only so much one could do on as little sleep as he'd been getting. the old man dug his rough, calloused fingertips into alois' sides, sandpaper thumbs tracing up and down his stomach. this grip allowed him to maintain his somewhat urgent pace as he thrusted himself in and out of the boy, going as quickly and steadily as his aged, weakened body could. his thighs and groin were stubbly and wrinkled against alois' smooth legs, contorted and spread to a painfully unnatural angle. the throbbing ache radiated through his whole body, excruciating enough to drive anyone to tears.

alois wasn't just anyone.

he was the earl's toy, hand crafted to endure and even yearn for his sadistic touch. once he got used to swallowing the pain alongside the old man's filthy semen, there wasn't anything left to hurt. he allowed himself to zone out, focusing on whatever minor details of the bedroom he could make out with the mere moonlight shining in through the grand window to his right. as his head was able to detach from all physical sensations, his body went on autopilot. alois was a mere corpse, and the way his body would tighten around whatever penetrated it was nothing more than rigor mortis. after faking pleasure for months, his subconscious learned to bear the burden for his mind, allowing him to mentally travel miles away from where the old man had him pinned down. occasionally, he'd hear one of these breathy, whiny, youthful moans pierce through the steady groans and panting coming from above him, but they were an entirely foreign sensation. they weren't his, but an output from a machine that he was trapped within.

the human, jim macken, died the first time he shakily limped out of the old man's room, down the hall, and back to rot in the dusty, mildew-scented basement. all that remained was alois trancy, a mere machine created to be exploited for personal pleasure.

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