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It started when they shoved their triangular head against her porcelain mask—a fool’s way at attempting a kiss when you both have no mouths.
It was the first time they had both been so daring with each other. Before, it used to be kept at small touches, words of support, and longing stares. Like it was all they had to give as good friends, but deep down they knew that there was something more scratching within their hearts, asking, ‘Can I come out? Can I come out yet? Please, let me out.’
Neither of them knew who made the first move. The last moment they remembered before they started clawing at each other, they were gazing into each other’s eyes, sitting on the cold floor of Zooble’s room with almost no distance between them, Gangle’s ribbons weaving within the spaces of Zooble’s fingers, words drifting off into digital space as she implored her mind to let her recall the lore of a few fictional characters she had created for one of her comics to dump onto her eager-to-listen companion. The tension was thick and palpable, almost as if you could squelch it and let it overflow in your hands like honey. Then, before they knew it, there was nothing at all between them. Not even words, not even air.
When they first kissed, Gangle immediately ran for a frantic apology, her mask almost turning into a molten mess. But Zooble stopped her on the way, told her it was fine. That they’ve always wanted her like this, all the while their hands slowly reached for her mask in search of more of her, and then their faces met again in a light and sweet clink. That’s when it went off the rails.
Remains of their nerves and sensations on their lips were still there, in a way. While eating and talking, it wasn’t easily noticeable, so both of them assumed that it was all completely gone now. But despite the rough crash at each other’s heads, they could feel a ghost of a feeling permeating their faces. It was still subtle, a bit hard to discern, but it meant their lips would truly be interlocking if their real bodies were to be together at that moment. Curiosity tugged at their arm, urging them to find out whether there was more they could do.
It was then that it began to set in. They were sunken, stuck deep underwater, and were just pulled out. This is their first gasp for air, like a child leaving the womb of its mother, being exposed to the pathos of the world around it. But this wasn’t pathos. Very far from it. It was pure, unadulterated euphoria.
This is what they were craving and yearning for all this time. There was no going back.
Ribbons and large, dissimilar cartoony hands clunkily attempt to explore the other’s body, sliding up and down, with a few seconds of separation, only to slot back in together again, trying to find ways to put their bodies together like puzzle pieces. This was strange, difficult, questionable. It was new. There was cartoon logic, and now, they had created some sort of passion logic. Logic made purely out of love and desire.
Zooble’s hands traced paths along Gangle’s ribbons. Patterns made with the tip of their finger, as if they were creating a map among the strips. It lingered within her like towns and cities had been carved within her soul. But it was still gentle, like they were slightly afraid of hurting her if they were too rough.
It was tough not to think their hands were too rough. It was either that they were too big, or too small, or too unfit for their liking in a thousand other ways. And now, melding together with their beloved like this, it was as if reality had augmented a thousand times over, and they could feel every inch, see every tiny detail on them. It made their heart drop to the bottom of their feet. But at the same time, those ribbons meshing themselves all over them couldn’t let them do anything else but continue.
They tugged. Tugged at her strings like a child asking its mother for something it can’t have, and welcomed their four-fingered hand into her inner coils. Gangle hid from their kisses in reply, her mask drifting to the side while trying to ignore that burning feeling of discomposure while being searched and delved into. Their fingers played with her stripes, letting them lie between the folds of the digits. They welcomed themselves both into the wide bed, Zooble letting Gangle sit atop their crotch, her posture small and coiled into itself. They both were a bit tense, but Zooble’s arms were open for her.
When Zooble clasped harder onto her ribbons, Gangle could feel a slight tremor coming from their hands. But she knew their hesitance was nothing compared to hers. Gangle was sure she gained a warmth in her satin ribbons that she usually couldn’t have upon their touch. She squirmed from the sensitivity of it all.
Flicking and caressing her ribbons, Zooble murmured, “Tell me if you like this.”
The pleasure was still at its minimum at that point, so it felt more ticklish if anything. Wrapping her arm around theirs, she began to lead their rubber-gloved hand along her coils, dragging down to the lower part of her torso, shyly staring at them with small whimpers. They gazed back with full intensity and heat, and now she could feel their tremors with even greater force. Their nervousness made her nervous too, but it also made her beam, seeing Zooble dare to be so coy around her, when they were this way with no one else. To be so timid, so soft. To be like her, in a way.
As they stared into each other with tiny breaks to breathe and recover from the passion in between, Gangle awakened from the thick, dream-like atmosphere they were both bubbled in with a sudden wave of pleasure. It made her shoot up, gasp in shock. Zooble also didn’t expect this to happen, so their fingers stopped in their tracks for just a second. Gangle was now recovering from the aftertouch, tingles being sent above her ribbons as if they were spine and ribs. She quivered, mouth agape, breathing heavily. From the dizziness, her arms wrapped themselves more around theirs so she didn’t fall backwards. And if she were to fall forward, she’d fall right into their hold, so they could catch her, keep her, and do whatever else they wanted to her as they wished. Because she knew their touch was the one she could trust.
Gangle whispered, her soft, whiny voice permeating through them, “R-Right there. Don’t stop.”
Zooble’s eyes widened. “Ah.”
Shit. That was their sign to keep going. It really had been a while since something like this happened. Didn’t help that they didn’t know how her body worked in the slightest, although they were always curious to test it out. There was no wet, tender pussy, no throbbing, swollen clit, to just finger and trace circles onto until it squirted all over them. It was just ribbons.
But the dishevelled, intoxicated look of Gangle, along with her hushed voice, still sent Zooble in for a hazy whirlwind; they now knew they were on the right track. And god, it made them tingle all over, too. A tingle they didn’t know was possible to even achieve in this place, but they had found the right person to show it all to them. Their hands began to shift, finding the perfect rhythm and motion to please her. Eventually, they decided on a stroking motion, somewhat fast, but not too slow, just enough to enjoy the buildup.
“Is this good?”
Oh, god. Yes. I need more, Gangle wanted to say. But as she squirmed and coiled in their touch, her mind was too overwhelmed to let out another word now. All she could show them was a blissed out, wobbly nod. All the good nerves within her that were atrophied were now awakened yet again, and it was too much, as if her pain tolerance had lowered its defences.
She was used to pain within the circus because that is all the circus gave her. Physical pain, mental pain (that she already had enough of, but it just quadrupled), all types of it. She was beginning to enjoy this pain, even, because there was nothing else she could do with all the misery she held in her arms.
At this point, pleasure was something almost untouched, unheard of. Maybe just another arrangement for twisted pain. Until she met them and got to know them. She wasn’t sure if she deserved this from them.
Zooble brought her back to them. As if her essence was about to be taken up and never returned, they took their hand to her mask, gently redirecting her vacant stare back at them. “Hey. Look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”
It was as if magic was stored in their loving stares. It was always like that between them. When she was out of it, breaking down, wondering how she’ll even last and survive another day in the circus, wishing for the sweet release of death, wondering if she could ever genuinely be loved and seen, one look and a tap on the arm from them brought her back to life. This was no different.
She nodded, whimpering as they continued the pace while they rubbed her coils, paying attention to her jerking, her cute noises, her breathing getting hitched. She was so needy, wanting more and more of those almost-kisses. It was like they were toys in a dollhouse, clashing their heads together and hoping something came out of it.
They felt her ribbons trail on their crotch, the ends leaving a sort of delicate feeling as they parted while she nervously looked for another place to settle herself in within them, her body coming apart of its humanoid appearance to embrace them closer. Intertwining her strips with their arms, their legs, pulling them almost to the point of popping them out from their sockets, but not quite. The feeling that was close to coming, but wasn’t all there, made Zooble shiver and huskily groan in the midst of those satin ribbons.
Their breath got heavier. She noticed how their abdomen moved up and down like a ribcage being expanded by lungs and a diaphragm. She wondered if she could hear something similar to a heartbeat if she lay her mask near their chest, before quickly ditching the idea out of a fear of not wanting to humiliate herself. If she had one again, she was sure that hers would be palpitating, like it was about to jump out of her chest. She wished she had her heart again just for this moment.
In response to their breathing, she clutched harder, as if her ribbons were about to break through that computerised, kidney-shaped body of theirs, revealing their cold, coarse human skin underneath. It was probably cold and coarse from not being touched like it should be for ages. It lost its softness; it gathered dust and dead cells all over, stiff like a corpse—it was dirty through and through. The smell of industrial plastic, like a knockoff toy bought in a cheap store, washed over her as her mask got closer to their head yet again, searching for another kiss amid all the stimulation.
Despite all the dirt, all the flaking, all the putridness underneath, they both kept going, and Zooble knew there was putrid underneath. Still, they kept going; let her drift her ribbons along their monstrous body, knowing fully well it would expose itself. It was slightly horrifying, but god, was it necessary.
“Gangle, fuck— So good. I need you,” Zooble grunted.
“I need you so much,” she repeated, a moan following her words.
Open me up, Zooble begged mentally. And they begged her to crack them open, to take this all away. They wanted her to break their plastic toy pieces, twist and bend them, tear them to pieces, make them forget they even have them in the first place. Or to at least turn them into something useful to her, make it something pleasurable, and fuck herself with it. Since these parts were good for nothing except to make them suffer and stress.
And then they realised. So this is what it feels like to have someone under your skin. Or in this case, inside their hollow, empty body.
It used to be something kept purely within their imaginations. The unknowns of the other’s body. How to find the right spots, how to make them feel good, make them forget that they were in this circus just by fucking, touching, fondling them the right way.
Had they finally reached a way to simulate some sort of penetration?
Or maybe it was all just some sort of foreplay?
No.
This was something else entirely.
This is what coitus wished it was like. To be explored in ways humans could only write in songs and diaries, and yearn for.
To be tied like shoelaces on a shoe.
Maybe a hollow body isn’t so bad, then, if it means they can be so close to her like this.
“Ah— Fuck... Take off my arms. Please. ‘Just want you inside of me.”
A request she’s never heard of before, till now. She’s sure she’s never heard of anyone desiring her like this while unwilling to hurt her in any way. The desperation in their voice had struck a chord within her.
She began to constrict herself, wedging herself into the gaps as their holes began to loosen from the joints, her ribbons pulling the distal end of their arms, the pressure of the binding leaving hints of pain all over. The look of bliss, as if their soul was being pulled from within them, captivated her, leaving her with a sweet taste she wanted more of. Their chest rose and fell faster, an accentuated pace that was still on its way to grow more and more, their groans resonating and travelling along her body.
A feeling of strain and soreness began to build in their arms, growing, growing... until it popped, and their arms were no longer attached to their abdomen. And it was like a bone of theirs had just been cracked, or maybe as if some erogenous spot was just poked at, catching them while they were offguard. Their body jerked, and despite their arms being detached, one of their hands still gripped onto the bedsheets for their life as Gangle slid into the sockets. The other continued to grasp one of her strips, stimulating it just as before, albeit with some more difficulty maintaining the rhythm.
To Gangle, it was amazing. How even, despite the disembodied arms, one of them still found a way to crawl their way back to her, yanking and embracing her ribbons exactly how she wanted them to, and the other was now fighting the shockwaves of pleasure to get even closer to her, still on the ambition to make her feel good, to please her, to adore her all over. To her, these arms, these interchangeable limbs, were nothing to be ashamed of. They were beautiful, impressive, so strong. How could anybody ever be repugnant to this?
They felt her ribbons clumsily curl into their insides, a sort of ticklish feeling accompanied by the burning peak of sensation in the exact spots she rubbed herself on. It made them want to relax, but at the same time, their back arched even higher as she slid herself in and out, their legs pushing back against the sheets, pressing them around their waist, scraping their holes with an endearing gentleness of hers to it, and even when she dared to tease the entrance of the orifice on the rectangular side of their triangular head, the ends hovering just outside of it.
Warmth built up in their plastic body, too. Their body temperatures now met, and in that moment, their parts finally began to mimic the warm touch of skin. It pulled her into the need to caress in and out of them even more, to shrink herself even more into them. Gangle’s tenseness was fading. No longer did it feel strange to coil herself around them, now. Maybe the human body must’ve always had this capability of being flexible and coily and thin like ribbons, because it felt so natural now. She forgot it all from before. And now it was all just them.
It was all just them. And she was loved now.
She giggled to herself as she faced them, their eyes glazed over, face flushed, while they slipped out groans and husky whimpers.
Her face felt warmer than her ribbons now, which was strange, since she was already heavily flushed, but it had somehow gone beyond that.
Wait.
Oh, she had begun to cry.
But these tears weren’t the usual ones she’d have from her tragedy mask, as it always leaked out a drop or two as its most prominent feature. She was always crying, wasn’t she?
No, no. These teardrops, they weren’t the same at all.
A warm, real sensation, reminiscent of what she used to have back then, the tears that would roll out of her soft, tender skin during those lonely, difficult nights. It looked the same as her usual caricatured tears, but it was so different. They mattered now.
Oh, how she couldn’t stop sobbing now, at the feeling of everything mattering, of everything being so real now, of the cartoons and vivid, bright cacophony of colors and shapes and fun and never-ending adventures fading, and now it was just tenderness and touching and soft voices and interruptions and dullness in the dark. And she was more than just ribbons and a mask now. And she was on top of the most handsome person she’s ever seen in that place. Perhaps even beyond the circus. A person with a triangular head, detached limbs, mismatched eyes, and mismatched hands…
“Hey,” they said, their friction slowing while they gathered as much composure and breath as they could in the process, although it wasn’t much. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I’m sorry— It’s just,” she muttered amongst her tears, “I haven’t felt something— anything… like this in so long, so I— I just—”
Zooble looked at her with all the devotion in the world, as if a God was standing right in front of them, as if the gates of heaven were opening within her voice. But it wasn’t God or any other strange metaphysical being that they wanted to see. Fuck no, they’d hate that, they’ve had just about enough of things like that. Right now, all they wanted to see was something human. And there she was, right in front of them.
“Gangle, it’s okay. Do you wanna stop?—”
“No! I just can’t believe I’m doing this with someone so— so beautiful as you,” she cried out amongst her moans, “I love you.”
Oh.
And then their eyes got warm too. And then the salty tears began to well up.
And they giggled, their breath getting shakier, their core burning up with a lump now stuck in their throat. “H-Huh? What are you talking about? I’m not— You really think…”
And then there was nothing else left to do except to let themself cry with her. To let those tears of a beautiful person fall in front of her.
And her ribbons hugged around the crevices of their plastic body, finding their rightful place within the smooth surface. Hugging it, running through it, tighter, tighter. If she hugged just a little tighter, maybe all that adoration would pass through her own body and end up in theirs, like when a frog absorbs the oils and fragrances that come from human skin.
But she knew that this wasn’t like a princess’s fairytale where they’d go back to being made of pinkish flesh and bones once they met true love and kissed. They’d have to stay here, like this. Forever. Accept it all. Keep this adoration flowing between each other. Because water, food, lights, and air could stop existing in the circus, and nothing would change. They’d still be alive. But love cannot run out in this circus, or otherwise, it’d be doomed for both of them.
Maybe this was all just a poorly-made facsimile of humanity. But if this semblance were the best she could give, then they’d take it all. Swallow it, let it run through their no-longer-existent stomach and intestines, let it be absorbed like nutrients and water, like the last remaining bits of protein extracted from their failing muscles, that their body was taking in to keep itself running and alive before it gave out and died from starvation.
They both needed this, like how humans outside this hellscape need to drink water, eat, and sleep. That was the only need they had now.
“Fuck. I’m crying like crazy, sorry. I love you too. I love you so much.”
They held onto eachother while shaking, both whimpering and becoming more dazed with each flick, each slithering deeper into their hollow body, riding the waves of ecstasy as friction increased again in every crevice, every corner. They were finally about to reach the skies with this salvaged feeling; after such a long time without a single crumb, not a single trace of this, the desperation had reached its peak.
Desperate to peruse their inside from end to end. Desperate to find new ways of grinding into eachother, to defy what had been defined for them. To trick the programming and the programmers, to confuse the mind of the AI that could not fathom how humans could love this profoundly and sensually and carnally, how they should not love this way. No longer were their thoughts coherent; now it was just a mix of begging for this sweet release to happen finally and desperate, mumbled confessions of adoration for each other.
Tears ran down their faces as they were oh so close to finishing right there and then. This feeling, this feeling they hadn’t had in so long. Oh god, it was too much. It was taking the entirety of them, submerging them in this apex. It felt like their body was being blasted with beams of light from the inside. Too much, too much, too much…
The room filled itself with sounds of weeping and desperate moaning, makeshift straddling causing their bed to creak in answer.
“‘M gonna cum, Zooble— Ah!” Gangle cried, fighting against the waves of overstimulation, her brain foggy from all the sensation. Her mask is unsteady as her body can no longer withstand holding itself still.
Hearing her say their name broke something in them for good. “Oh, god, fuck. Please. Please, I need to cum so bad. Gangle—”
Zooble’s face scrunched up in pure pleasure as Gangle pressed into their inner shell, almost making a bulge stick out. They wanted to have each other like this every night, taking each other in perfectly, filling the other’s senses to remind each other of this feeling, never letting go of these sensations. Both pathetically, wholeheartedly, willingly undoing themselves for the other.
Their squeezes, their strokes, their rubbing, it all became frantic, uselessly prolonged, anguished, like dry heaving, squeezing out every last drop of what could be their possible finish. Savouring every second. It was frustrating. But at the same time, who else could they be this frustrated with but with each other? Nobody could understand the quirks and peculiarities of their strange bodies other than themselves.
Not the artistry, not the solitariness, not the gimmicks that no one else had except them. This was just between them. And the fact that this was something only they understood between eachother made them unite like nothing else. No one could take this away from them. No one, no one. Not a single soul in this circus could understand, other than them.
Fuck!
They were stuck like this.
Ngh.
And they were stuck with this burden.
Ah, I'm coming! I’m coming, not done, notdoneplease—
But at least, they were stuck with it together.
Mm. Huff.
Untied, undone.
They came undone, reaching their unified 'climax,' or at least as close as possible to it. Something like that, they silently (or maybe loudly, amongst the moans) hoped. In all honesty, the feelings of ecstasy were becoming gradually numbed, and the act of rubbing against each other like this was just frankly becoming exhausting over anything else. So maybe it wasn't a true release. The classic ones back from the macroverse, where they'd do the big oh, and it'd all come out all over each other. But, you know, it was adjacent; the course was more important than the finish line.
They panted, staying tremulant in the same position, Gangle on top of Zooble, holding each other close and tight. An inhuman hand hovering over Gangle’s ribbons. Ribbons stretching across a plastic toy. Their bodies were returning to their usual chilly temperature now, and it was all beginning to feel like rubber, plastic, porcelain, and fabric again. Their stream of tears began to lessen, although they both kept sniffling quietly, gently, as the aftermath.
There was no fluid, no semen. But their exhaustion meant something, didn’t it? Maybe they had just given up. Perhaps they could’ve gotten a spurt of cum to come out if they kept going. But they were relatively satisfied right now, and their tears had practically drenched the bed and their own bodies, so it was probably a good idea to stop. Maybe they could try again later, again, and again, and again. Regardless of whether it had the same outcome or not. Because they just wanted to feel mortal, to feel real, to feel natural. And just as much, if not more than that, because they wanted each other.
They looked at each other, their inhales and exhales dissonant. Letting out soft giggles. Well, at the end of the day, they did it. They got somewhere. They discovered what they always wanted to know. They chuckled with each other, as silly little dorks who successfully carried out a plan for something they weren’t supposed to do. Whether under watchful eyes or not, they got away with it in such a childish place, didn’t they? This was their big ‘fuck you’ to the world, to the masterminds and AI around them.
This was grown-up, this was calm, this was real. If this were the only semi-natural thing they could get out of this entire thing, then that’d be okay for them.
This could help keep them in the circus for another thousand years. Of course, as long as they stuck together the entire time.