Archive of Our Own

Charles did not want any of this. He wanted something simple and completely normal. He just wanted a tiny model of Max’s car. Normal thing to want. A very normal thing.

He wanted the one with the little tiny Max model inside the car.

He did not want a life-size robot model of Max standing inside his living room holding up a contract claiming Charles had bought him.

Charles blinked, staring at not Max, who stood in the middle of the cluttered living room like he owned the place. And according to the papers in his hand, maybe he did.

“What,” Charles said slowly, trying to keep his voice level, “is this?”

Model Max, a head taller (the thing wasn’t even accurate to size) and radiating the confident air of someone entirely too used to being admired, grinned as if this were all perfectly reasonable. “This,” he said, shaking the contract lightly, “is the legally binding document you agreed to when you placed that very specific order. I’m here to fulfil it.”

Charles’s stomach sank. He’d ordered a model car, not – this thing. “No. No, no, no. I bought a toy. A collectible. Not you!” He waved an accusing hand at the imitation, whose easygoing smirk only deepened.

“Sure,” still not Max said. “You thought you were buying a toy. But the fine print–”

“Oh, don’t you dare bring up the fine print!” Charles interrupted. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. “Who even reads the fine print? Nobody does!”

“Well, then,” Model Max said cheerfully, plopping onto Charles’s couch as though he belonged there, “that’s kind of on you, isn’t it? Section 33, sub-clause B: ‘The purchaser agrees to receive a life-size, interactive Max experience.’ That’s me. Hi.”

Charles dragged a hand down his face. He remembered the website. It had seemed… off, now that he thought about it. There’d been a lot of flashy animations and far too much enthusiasm in the descriptions. But the pictures of the models had looked so perfect, and the reviews had been glowing. He’d ignored the little voice in his head that told him to double-check before clicking Buy Now.

He groaned. “This has to be a joke. Some marketing stunt, right? Like one of those pop-up giveaways, and you just… show up for an hour and leave.”

Max leaned back, stretching out comfortably. “Afraid not. The contract says I’m here until you terminate the agreement. Which, by the way, is only possible under some very specific circumstances. You did want the deluxe package, right?”

“I didn’t want the deluxe anything! I wanted – oh my God. You have to leave.”

“Can’t. Bound by the contract,” Max said, unbothered. “And, really, aren’t you the least bit curious? A life-size Max model – interactive, no less. You won’t find another like me anywhere.”

“I don’t want anything like you anywhere! I want a car! A tiny car!”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You have terrible taste in priorities.”

Charles stared at him, open-mouthed. His brain scrambled for solutions, but all it could produce was a mental loop of this cannot be happening.

“Okay,” Charles finally said, dragging a shaky breath in, “how do I terminate the agreement? What’s the catch?”

Max grinned. “Oh, it’s simple. You just have to complete the included satisfaction program.”

Charles froze. “Satisfaction program?”

“Yup. Guaranteed satisfaction or you keep me until you are. Whatever that means.”

Charles’s knees gave out, and he sank onto the arm of the chair. The world was spinning, and this model thing of Max, interactive, smug, and apparently his problem now. It was watching him with the amusement of someone who found this all incredibly entertaining. Max – real Max – would probably look at him the same way.

He needed a lawyer. Or maybe an exorcist.

Max – the life-size model of real Max – quickly got tired of staring at Charles, leading it to wander around. Charles lazily tracked it with his eyes as the model went through Charles’s belongings.

He had questioned why the RB19 had been so expensive, but he had also seen the reselling price on other sites, and had honestly just thought the discretion box, meant the parcel didn’t have traces of where it was from. After all, he did not want others to know he collected the cars he and Max had raced in.

“Hand me the contract.” Charles sighed.

He was met with a stack of papers flying into his face, as Max was studying his display of model cars.

Sure enough, on page one, the text itself read, RB19-MODEL-A2 FOLLOWS WITH MAX-MODEL-B1-FULLSIZE.

“Oh, these are new, aren’t they?”

“What do you–” Charles asked, before looking over the contract. “Put that down!”

Max immediately dropped the model car – the RB15 – he was holding. It clattered on the shelf, and for a moment Charles wondered if he would have to sweep up the debris, luckily it didn’t fall off, and neither did any of the nearby models.

“A life-size interactive experience–”

“You’ve said that already, what does it mean?”

The Max model shrugged, it was so lifelike, and Charles kept forgetting it wasn’t Max.

“Whatever you want, or need, satisfactory problem, remember, I just told you. You are so forgetful.” The tone sounded almost fond, Charles hated the way the thing kept staring at him as if it knew something Charles didn’t. Considering it was a robot, it probably did.

“Then get me a glass of water!” Charles barked out, and the thing wandered into his kitchen, it was so familiar with the place – if Charles wasn’t already weirded out by the entire situation, he was now – a glass of ice-cold water was placed in front of him.

“How did you know–” Charles quickly cut himself off with, “I’m satisfied!”

Max leaned back in front of Charles, touching a finger to Charles’s forehead.

“No.”

“NO?!” Charles squawked, “I know when I’m satisfied! And I am!”

“No.” Max leaned back – Charles shivered, he had got far too comfortable with this thing far too quickly – he smiled at Max. “Your dopamine and serotonin levels are reading below satisfactory standards.”

Now that – for the first time – sounded like something real Max would never say.

Charles squinted at the Max model, leaning further back on the chair as though more physical distance would somehow protect him from the uncanny valley nightmare in front of him.

"My what levels?" he demanded.

"Your dopamine and serotonin levels," Max repeated matter-of-factly as if this was a perfectly ordinary conversation. "I can read them. Part of the deluxe interactive experience." He tapped his temple and then gestured vaguely in Charles's direction as if pointing out some invisible scanner.

"You... scan me?" Charles asked, a faint edge of panic creeping into his voice.

"Of course." Max sat on the coffee table, resting his chin on his hand. "How else am I supposed to monitor your satisfaction progress? Can’t fulfil the program if I don’t know how you’re doing."

Charles groaned and ran both hands through his hair. “This is insane. I didn’t sign up for a mood tracker-slash-therapist-slash-Max clone! I just wanted a model car!”

Max smirked again, that trademark grin that Charles had seen so many times on race podiums. “You keep saying that. But the contract disagrees.”

“Do you have to be this smug about it?” Charles snapped.

“Smug?” Max tilted his head. “This isn’t smug. This is helpful. You’re getting my undivided attention, my expert knowledge, and a bespoke happiness plan. People would kill for this.”

“Kill me, maybe,” Charles muttered under his breath.

Max ignored that, leaning forward again. “So. Let’s make a plan. What brings you satisfaction? A good meal? Winning– although that’s impossible with how well I have been doing this season. How about a stroll through your deepest unresolved issues? I’m versatile.”

Charles threw his hands in the air. “I don’t need a plan! I don’t need you! I just need you to go away!”

Max made a tsk-tsk sound, shaking his head with exaggerated pity. “Denial is a classic early-stage reaction. Don’t worry, Charles. We’ll work through this together.”

“No. No ‘we.’ No working through anything.” Charles stood up, jabbing a finger in Max’s direction. “You’re leaving. Now.”

Max didn’t budge. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and gestured to the stack of papers Charles still clutched. “I already told you, but you can read it yourself, the termination requirements are outlined in Section 62.”

Charles flipped frantically through the contract, his eyes skimming over the incomprehensible legal jargon until he found the section. He read it once, twice, and then sank back onto the arm of the chair, his face pale.

Max looked pleased. “See? Easy to follow, right?”

“You call this easy?” Charles shot back, his voice pitching higher. “‘Satisfactory completion of life goals and emotional milestones?!’ What does that even mean?!”

Max shrugged again, his expression unreadable. “That’s up to you. I’m just here to help you achieve it. But I have a feeling–”

“You have feelings?”

“Turn of phrase Charlie.” Max rolled his eyes, Charles really did not like this. “I know everything about Max, and that means I have an idea–”

“YOU KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT MAX?!”

“Considering I am made with his consciousness, I would say yes. Any trade secrets are off-limits. Could not tell you even if I wanted to.” The thing looked annoyed with him, “Do you always cut people off like this, no wonder I think you are the devil reincarnated.”

Charles nearly tripped over himself getting out of the chair, quickly reaching for Max’s shoulders. “You know what Max thinks of me?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, now!”

“Demanding,” Max teased.

Charles's grip on Max’s shoulders tightened as he leaned in, his eyes wide and desperate. “This is not the time for teasing! You just dropped a – what’s the English word – a bombshell, tell me now! What does Max think of me?”

Max tilted his head, his smirk growing wider. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” He paused for dramatic effect, which made Charles twitch. “Max thinks you’re… intense.”

“Intense?” Charles echoed, his voice full of disbelief. “What does that even mean? That’s not an answer!”

“Oh, it’s absolutely an answer,” Max said with maddening calmness, shrugging out of Charles’s grip and standing up. He towered over Charles, something the real Max didn’t. “It means you’re passionate. Determined. You put your whole self into everything you do. You’re like… fire. Unstoppable. Fierce. Sometimes, overwhelming.” He turned back to Charles, his grin softening. “But he admires that about you.”

Charles froze, processing the words. They were flattering, yes, but in a way that felt suspiciously sugarcoated. “And the rest?” he asked warily, knowing there had to be a catch.

Max’s grin returned in full force. “Oh, he also thinks you’re stubborn as hell, emotionally constipated, and possibly incapable of admitting when you’re wrong.”

Charles opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, completely lost for a retort. “That’s – he doesn’t – how would you even know that?!”

Max gestured to himself as if the answer was obvious. “Because I’m him, Charles. All the wit, charm, and brutal honesty of the real Max, packaged into a much more entertaining version.”

“Entertaining for who?!” Charles barked, flopping back onto the chair in frustration. He stared at the ceiling, willing himself to calm down. “So you’re saying… Max thinks I’m an emotionally stunted fireball who makes everything harder than it needs to be.”

“That’s a very dramatic way to summarise,” Max said, amused, “but not entirely inaccurate.”

“What’s the completely accurate version then?!”

Max grinned. “He’s positively as obsessed with you as you are with him.”

“I’m not obsessed!” Charles argued.

The robot gestured to itself once more, “I beg to differ.”

“I don’t think you can beg,” Charles muttered under his breath. This entire thing was giving him a headache, one he could have been happily without.

“I can do many, many things.” Max loomed over Charles once more, touching his forehead once more, “and you are still not satisfied. If anything, you seem to be stressed. Do you wish to use the deluxe package?”

Charles shouldn’t.

“Yes– Confirm.”

The robot kissed him.

Charles closed his eyes and imagined it was Max, only to open them and be reminded in a way, it was Max.

Charles’s mind stuttered to a halt, caught between outrage and disbelief as the kiss lingered just long enough to leave him entirely disoriented. The feel of it was unnervingly real – soft, precise, even affectionate – but the second he opened his eyes again, the reality of who (or what) had just kissed him sent him bolting upright.

“What the hell was that?!” Charles practically yelped, scrambling back into the chair like the robot had just grown fangs.

Max looked supremely unbothered, a faintly amused smile playing on his lips. “That was me executing the ‘enhanced comfort protocol,’ as per your confirmation. Deluxe package, remember?”

“Comfort protocol?!” Charles repeated, his voice climbing in pitch. “That wasn’t comfort, that was–” He stopped himself, face turning red as the rest of the sentence tried to form in his brain.

“Oh?” Max teased, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “What was it, then?”

Charles scowled. “I don’t even– no. No. You can’t just– Mon Dieu” He gestured wildly at the space between them, at the whole impossible situation, his words tangling into incoherence. “This isn’t– you–”

“Charles.” Max’s voice cut through his rambling like a blade, he was calm, even, and with that uncanny edge of knowing. “You said yes. You confirmed. I’m programmed to respond to your needs, even when you can’t articulate them.”

Charles froze again, his chest tight as he stared at Max. “I didn’t need that,” he said, his voice quieter this time.

Max tilted his head, studying him. “Didn’t you?” he asked, softly enough that it felt more like a challenge than a question.

Charles hated how much that made him pause. He hated the way his heart raced, the way his face burned, the way that thing – a machine with Max’s face and voice – managed to unearth feelings he’d worked very hard to keep buried.

He stood abruptly, pacing to the other side of the room, putting as much space as he could between himself and Max. “You’re a robot,” he said finally, more to himself than to Max. “This is insane. I don’t care how realistic you are – you’re not him.”

Max didn’t move, but his expression softened, the cocky smirk giving way to something that looked almost… sincere. “I never said I was,” he admitted. “But you did think of him. Didn’t you?”

Charles stopped pacing, his back to Max. He clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself to stay calm. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered. “You’re not supposed to… to mess with me like this.”

“I’m not messing with you,” Max said, his tone low and deliberate. “I’m here to help. But you’ve got to meet me halfway, Charles. What are you so afraid of?”

The question struck him harder than it should have, and he turned sharply, glaring at Max. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’re standing over there, looking like you’re ready to bolt.”

Charles opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he sighed heavily and sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Why am I even talking to you about this?”

“Because I’m here,” Max said simply. “And, like it or not, you need someone to talk to. Someone who knows you better than you think.” He smirked again, a faint echo of the real Max’s signature grin. “And who better than me?”

Charles shook his head, laughing bitterly. “This is a nightmare.”

“Maybe,” Max said, leaning back with a shrug. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s a pretty well-designed one. I have the full package, you know.”

Charles probably stared far too long at the crotch of Max, but politeness be damned. The thing just kissed him, and it had felt good. Really good, far too good, for the fact that he was kissing a robot made from the consciousness of his friend. His rival. His… Max.

Max strode across the living room, backing Charles up against the wall. “Say we continue this?”

His breath hitched, “I–”

“Or do you need a show of my abilities first?”

Charles swallowed hard, the wall cold against his back as Max leaned in, closer than any robot had any business being. His mind scrambled for a response, some sharp retort to shatter the tension crackling between them. Instead, all he managed was a shaky, “A show?”

Max tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “I mean, you paid for the deluxe package, Charles. Shouldn’t you see what that includes?” His voice dipped into a low, teasing lilt that made Charles’s pulse hammer uncomfortably in his chest.

“I– uh–” Charles stammered, his thoughts short-circuiting as Max’s presence filled his senses. He hated how real it all felt: the warmth radiating from him, the slight scent of something clean and crisp, almost like Max’s cologne. This thing wasn’t supposed to have a scent. That was ridiculous. Why would anyone program that?

Max reached out, placing one hand on the wall beside Charles’s head, boxing him in. “You know,” he said, his tone conversational but his proximity anything but, “I was built to anticipate your needs. To adapt. All you have to do is ask.”

Charles clenched his fists at his sides, torn between the urge to push Max away and… something else entirely. “This is insane,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not– this isn’t–”

“I’m not real Max,” Max finished for him, his tone softer now, almost gentle. “I know that. Who even cares about him, I am here, Charles. Right here.” He gestured between them, the gap barely wide enough to breathe. “And you haven’t told me to stop.”

Charles’s breath hitched. His body screamed at him to move, to say something, do something, but he was frozen, caught in the gravity of Max’s presence. He could feel his pulse thrumming in his ears, every nerve alight with confusion and an undeniable pull he didn’t want to name.

“You want a show?” Max asked again, his voice low, almost a whisper now. “I could prove to you just how good I am at meeting expectations.” His free hand brushed lightly against Charles’s wrist, a touch so fleeting it sent a jolt up his arm.

“Do it,” Charles had said, barely recognising his own voice.

Max leaned in closer, the space between them charged with something electric. His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something else there too—a challenge, a command of the moment that left Charles rooted in place.

“Not enough,” Max replied, his tone dripping with mock disappointment, his lips curling into a knowing grin. “I want to hear it the way you mean it. No hesitation, no hiding.”

Charles swallowed hard, his throat dry, but his body betrayed him. His heart pounded with anticipation, his breath shallow. Max’s hand brushed against his wrist again, a featherlight touch that burned like fire. Charles clenched his jaw, struggling to find his voice through the storm of conflicting emotions.

“Confirm?” he asked, the word trembling in the air between them. He hated the way it sounded so unsure and vulnerable. And yet, it was the only thing he could say.

Max’s smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he straightened up, radiating confidence. He raised his hand, cupping Charles’s jaw with a gentleness that disarmed him completely. Charles felt the warmth of Max’s touch seep into his skin, grounding him even as it set every nerve ablaze.

“Good boy,” Max said softly, the words sliding out like silk. His thumb brushed against Charles’s cheek, and the faint praise hit harder than Charles expected, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Charles’s eyes fluttered shut, his mind reeling. The line between reality and this surreal encounter blurred further with every second, every touch. This wasn’t supposed to happen – none of this was supposed to happen – but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The pull was undeniable, and Charles hated himself for leaning into it even slightly.

He opened his eyes to find Max studying him, a predator enjoying its catch. “See?” Max said, his voice smooth, coaxing. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Charles clenched his fists, his pride warring with the strange relief that came with surrendering, if only for a moment. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the heat in his face betrayed him.

Max laughed, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down Charles’s spine. “And yet,” Max said, his hand dropping to rest lightly on Charles’s shoulder, “you’re still here. Still looking at me like I’m the answer to a question you’re too afraid to ask.”

“That’s not–” Charles began, but the protest died on his lips as Max tilted his head, waiting, daring him to continue. Charles didn’t.

“Where’s your bedroom? I could happily continue here, but this is about your satisfaction and comfort.” Max taunted. Before the robot dragged Charles away, the words did not match his actions.

He already knew where Charles’s bedroom was. Charles wanted to ask, but he was terrified of breaking the tension in the room, too scared that asking the question would stop what was ineffable now. And if Charles did, he would never have the courage nor the strength to ask Max to fuck him. It was easier to let the robot do what it wanted and let his worries take a backseat.

Charles’s heart raced as Max’s words hung in the air, teasing and commanding all at once. His breath caught in his throat when Max turned, his grip on Charles’s wrist firm but not forceful, as if daring him to pull away. But Charles didn’t. He couldn’t.

The decision felt already made, his resistance worn thin under the weight of the tension between them.

Max led the way, his steps deliberate, and confident, but his hand remained on Charles, a tether that kept them connected. Charles’s pulse pounded as they moved through the apartment. It was surreal, watching the robot navigate his space with uncanny familiarity. Every detail – the turn of his head, the way he paused to glance back with a knowing smile – was a perfect mimicry of Max. Too perfect.

By the time they reached the bedroom, Charles was a mess of tangled emotions, his pride and apprehension warring with an undeniable, aching want. Max stopped in the doorway, his hand slipping from Charles’s wrist, leaving behind a phantom warmth that made Charles shiver.

Max turned to face him fully, leaning against the doorframe with a casual elegance that only heightened the tension in the air. “You’re nervous,” he observed, his tone soft, almost kind, though the glint in his eyes remained sharp. “That’s good. Excitement feels a lot like fear, don’t you think?”

Charles’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement or both. Instead, he shook his head, trying to shake off the fog in his mind. “You… shouldn’t know where my bedroom is,” he managed finally, the words falling flat even as he said them.

Max chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “Why shouldn’t I? I know you, Charles. Better than you want to admit. And you…” He stepped closer, closing the distance between them with a precision that left no room to breathe. “…want me to know.”

“I don’t–” Charles began, but the words were weak, and Max’s fingers ghosted over his collarbone, silencing him.

“You do,” Max said firmly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’re afraid to admit it. Afraid to want this. To want me.”

Charles’s defences crumbled, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of Max’s presence. Every touch, every word from the robot sent his thoughts spiralling into chaos, his pride screaming for him to stop this while every other part of him urged him to surrender.

“Tell me what you want,” Max pressed, his hand resting lightly on Charles’s chest, just over his pounding heart. “Say it, and it’s yours.”

Charles’s breath hitched. The pull was overwhelming now, an inevitability he couldn’t escape. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, his words barely audible. “I want you to…”

“To what?” Max interrupted gently, his lips brushing Charles’s ear as he leaned in. “I need to hear it, Charles.”

Charles closed his eyes, his fists clenched at his sides as he forced the words out. “I want you to… take control.”

The confession hung heavy in the room, and Charles felt Max smile against his skin. “Good boy,” Max murmured, his tone laced with approval.

Charles’s legs gave way, and Max caught him effortlessly, guiding him backwards onto the bed. Charles didn’t resist. For once, he let himself stop thinking, stop fighting and gave in to the moment. The strangest, most impossible, exhilarating moment.

Whatever came next, Charles couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

Max hovered over Charles, his movements deliberate and precise, his eyes scanning every flicker of emotion on Charles’s face. For someone who wasn’t supposed to be real, he felt terrifyingly present. Warm, heavy, and grounding in a way Charles hadn’t expected. Every sensation, every detail, was amplified in the stillness of the room.

Charles lay back, his breath shallow and uneven, his hands gripping the edge of the blanket beneath him like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. Max’s presence loomed over him, a mix of dominance and understanding that made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.

“You’re holding back again,” Max said softly, almost disappointed. His hand traced a line down Charles’s chest, the touch barely there but enough to make him shiver. “You need to stop doing that.”

Max peeled off Charles’s shirt.

“I’m not–” Charles began, but Max cut him off with a single look it was sharp, commanding, silencing him completely.

“You are,” Max said firmly, his voice dipping into that low, velvety tone that left no room for argument. “You think too much. Always calculating, always second-guessing. But here?” His hand flattened over Charles’s chest, directly above his heart, where it thundered beneath his palm. “Here, you don’t have to do any of that. Let go, Charles.”

Charles stared up at him, caught between defiance and surrender. He wanted to argue, to push back against Max’s words, but the weight of them sank deep, resonating with a truth he didn’t want to face. Max’s hand didn’t move, and Charles swore the warmth of it was seeping straight into his soul.

“I don’t know how,” Charles admitted finally, his voice barely a whisper.

Max smiled, soft but triumphant. “That’s why I’m here.”

Before Charles could respond, Max leaned down, his lips brushing against Charles’s jawline, slow and deliberate. It wasn’t hurried or demanding, just firm and unyielding, as if Max had all the time in the world. Charles’s breath hitched, his hands loosening their grip on the blanket as he felt himself sink further into the moment.

Every kiss, every touch, was measured, calculated to draw Charles out of his own head and into the present. Max’s hand slid to his waist, anchoring him as his lips trailed a path down Charles’s neck, leaving heat in their wake. It was intoxicating and overwhelming, and Charles found himself gripping Max’s arm, needing something solid to hold onto.

“See?” Max murmured against his skin, his voice like a balm against Charles’s frazzled nerves. “You’re starting to get it. Just feel, Charles. Let me take care of the rest.”

Charles bit back a groan, his resolve crumbling entirely under Max’s touch. He hated how easy it was. How effortlessly Max dismantled his walls, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. But he also hated how much he needed this, needed him.

Max pulled back just enough to meet Charles’s gaze, his eyes burning with intensity. “Tell me you trust me,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding.

Charles hesitated, the words caught in his throat. Trust wasn’t something he gave easily – not to anyone, and certainly not to a robot who shouldn’t even exist. But as Max held his gaze, waiting patiently, Charles felt something shift inside him.

“I…” He exhaled shakily, forcing himself to meet Max’s eyes. “I trust you.”

Max’s smile widened, his hand sliding up to cup Charles’s face. “Good boy,” he said again, the praise sending a shiver down Charles’s spine.

Then Max kissed him again, and this time Charles stopped thinking entirely.

Max's kiss sent a rush of desire through Charles, causing his thoughts to dissipate completely. As Max leaned back, Charles couldn't help but whimper, momentarily forgetting that he was in the presence of the lifelike robot. The level of detail in Max's appearance was astounding, truly the deluxe package, it was difficult for Charles to distinguish between the robot and the real Max, if not for the noticeable height difference.

Charles propped himself up slightly, letting his eyes take in the robot, drink up the sight of his pecs, the way his stomach flexed, and then… Charles’s breath hitched, he was so big. Far bigger than he expected.

He loomed over Charles once more, stealing a kiss. “told you I was an upgraded version.” Before he pushed Charles down once more.

Max pulled Charles’s trousers and boxers off before he realised what had happened, his mind still filled with the image of Max’s giant fucking cock.

Charles's breath hitched sharply as Max’s actions left him reeling, his mind struggling to keep up with what was happening. The sight of Max, too perfect, too much, loomed over him, making him feel impossibly small in every sense of the word. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed through every nerve in his body.

Max leaned in again, brushing a slow kiss along Charles’s jawline, his hands sliding along Charles’s thighs with a possessive confidence that left no room for hesitation. “You’re overwhelmed,” Max said, his voice a mix of amusement and something darker, more alluring. “I can feel it. See it.”

Charles’s body betrayed him, hips shifting instinctively as he tried to find some relief from the heat pooling in his stomach. His pride screamed at him to push Max away, to regain some semblance of control, but every fibre of his being was drawn into the gravity of Max’s presence.

“I don’t–” Charles began, his voice trembling, but Max silenced him with another kiss, slow and consuming, his lips moving like he had all the time in the world.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Max murmured against his lips, his hands gripping Charles’s hips firmly now, keeping him in place. “I know exactly what you need.”

Charles whimpered, a sound that embarrassed him even as it escaped his throat. He wanted to argue, to tell Max he didn’t know anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself giving in, his body arching under Max’s touch as his own desires betrayed him.

Max leaned back slightly, his eyes roaming over Charles with an intensity that made his skin burn.

“You’re perfect like this,” Max said, his voice soft but commanding, his hand brushing lightly along Charles’s side. “So much better when you stop fighting me.”

Charles shuddered, torn between indignation and a deep, consuming want that left him speechless. He tried to steady his breathing, but Max’s presence, his touch, his voice, and the sheer overwhelming reality of him made it impossible.

Max’s grin widened as he pressed another kiss to Charles’s lips, his hands trailing lower, igniting every nerve they touched. “Relax,” he whispered, his tone laced with a promise that made Charles’s stomach twist in anticipation. “I’ve got you.”

His entire body felt on fire as Max’s hands trailed right past, where Charles needed him most. Further down, he moaned into Max’s mouth as the robot started kneading Charles’s ass cheeks.

Max kept up the motion as he kissed down Charles’s neck and his chest.

Charles could have sworn the robot let out a low hum of approval at his chest, but he was too focused on the feeling of Max’s mouth on his nipple. Sucking, kissing, mouthing over it, it all felt amazing.

Another moan escaped as Max bit into his nipple.

Charles’s hand made its way into Max’s hair. It felt so real and soft in all the ways Charles had always imagined it would feel.

He gave it a slight tug, and Max looked up at him.

Fierce eyes, all too human for something that wasn’t.

Charles tugged again, it smiled at him and then went back to slobbering all over his stomach. Slowly it crept towards where Charles truly needed Max, real Max not this, but it would have to do, and Charles would enjoy it.

Max chuckled against his skin, “Relax.” So he did, feeling a lack of breath fanning against his skin, despite the slightly damp and wet residue left in Max’s mouth. His hand slipped out from Max’s hair, his fingertips lighted and touched down against his own nipple. He brought his hand up, it was sticky and clear.

As if Max knew what Charles was thinking – an ability he was starting to believe the robot came with – he kissed Charles’s thigh before mumbling, mumbling, “It’s lube.”

Had Charles not known better, he would have thought the robot was ashamed, but he did. It was a robot, a fake, not the real deal.

His hand was back in Max’s hair as he guided it towards his balls. A long lick, mixed with the hand that tightened around his cock, had Charles whining for more.

Max chuckled, and the thing laughed at him. Charles wanted to protest, but all he got out was a choked sound as Max took his cock into his mouth.

It didn’t take long before Charles was panting and begging for more, Max, s'il te plaît.

Max moved off his cock, teasing light touches and kisses as Charles was writhing, he could feel every nerve of his body firing off, and yet he needed Max to get his mouth back on his dick.

“Patience.”

Charles nearly cried at that, but at least Max kept his hand on his dick, slow motions up and down, up and down and squeeze.

He cried at that.

Then something rubbery and sticky touched his rim, and then more, and– Max was kissing his asshole. Charles tried to recoil, do anything, but the arm that had been snaked around his left thigh kept him locked against Max’s face.

Charles’s breath came in shallow gasps, his chest heaving as his mind tried to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. Every nerve felt alight, his body taut and trembling under Max’s relentless touch. The seeming lack of heat from Max’s mouth, the firm grip on his thigh, and the sticky, rubbery sensation against his rim, it all blended into a haze of pleasure and disbelief.

He looked down, his fingers clutching at the sheets, only to meet Max’s gaze. Those sharp, too lifelike knowing eyes locked onto his, unrelenting and intense, as if daring him to resist. Charles’s thighs twitched, but Max’s arm held him firm, his face pressed intimately against him.

“Relax,” Max murmured again, his voice a low vibration against Charles’s skin. The command was maddening, but his mouth worked with a precision that left Charles unable to do anything but obey.

Charles whimpered, his hips shifting despite himself as Max’s tongue pressed deeper, probing and teasing with a deliberate slowness that had Charles gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. Every time he thought he couldn’t take any more, Max would pause, only to press harder, leaving him gasping and squirming.

“Max–” he managed to choke out, his voice trembling and thick with need. His pride begged him to stay silent, but the words spilt out anyway. “I–I can’t–”

“You can,” Max interrupted, his tone both gentle and commanding. His hand moved back to Charles’s cock, stroking in slow, torturous motions, up-down-squeeze, updownsqueeze that left Charles shaking. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Charles whimpered again, his head falling back against the mattress, his body a slave to Max’s relentless attention. He tried to hold himself together, to maintain some semblance of control, but every kiss, every touch, broke him down further.

Max shifted slightly, his hand tightening on Charles’s thigh as his tongue worked deeper, his movements purposeful and almost methodical. The wet, sticky lube only added to the surreal intimacy of it all, a sensation that made Charles’s head spin.

Charles’s breaths turned into desperate, high-pitched whines, his hips rolling instinctively as he chased the overwhelming pleasure Max was giving him. He hated how needy he sounded, how completely undone he’d become, but he couldn’t stop. Every ounce of him ached for more.

“Max,” he panted again, his voice breaking. “S’il te plaît. Please.”

The thing chuckled against him, the vibration sending shockwaves through Charles’s already over-sensitised body. “Patience, Charlie,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement as his fingers danced along Charles’s inner thigh. “We’ve only just begun.”

He whimpered at the lack of attention to his cock.

Then the first finger prodded. Charles could swear his eyes rolled so far back into his head, that all he could see was his brain as it conjured up images, making him wish it was the real Max.

“Levels dropping.” The machine – as Charles was so cruelly reminded – muttered, “I thought you liked this.”

“I–I do–” Charles gasped out as Max retracted his finger, “con-CONTINUE! WHATEVER YOU NEED! AFFIRMATIVE! START! GO!”

“Good. I wouldn’t have stopped, regardless.” It mutters before leaning over, and kissing Charles, inserting its finger again, and again, and again.

Charles’s throat was quickly getting hoarse by the moans, Max was swallowing down, his rubbery lips against Charles’s soft real ones. He could feel his own skin tear, and he did not care, “S’il te plaît.” he begged.

Max pulled back from Charles’ mouth and leaned down to spit. Another moan was torn out of his chest, as the second finger joined the first, and then the stretch.

He had never felt like this before.

Everything seemingly intensified, as he could feel Max’s fingers scraping across the walls of his prostate. More lube spit, another finger, and stars were floating across his bedroom ceiling, or maybe he was hallucinating, it all felt like such already. Robot Max fucking him on his fake fingers, why shouldn’t there be stars on his ceiling.

“Attention on me.”

Max curled his fingers.

Charles was screaming or crying, or– he wasn’t sure what his body was doing, his fingers were clutching the bedsheets, then in Max’s hair, then shoulders, back to the sheets. His face was wet, from tears or sweat or something third.

Everything was too much, all the time, at the same time.

“Ma–aaax.”

“Good boy,” Max told him, a reward, before Charles could feel his tongue running over his stomach, lapping up the fresh warm cum.

His fingers were still lazily thrusting in and out of Charles, as if he would run away after coming, as if he could.

Charles could feel his mouth start to dry as he was lapping for the air. He needed it. Just as much as he needed Max to fuck him. Real Max, fake Max, any Max. He needed Max inside of him preferably yesterday, and for all the time to come after.

“Ssssh, sssh,” Max soothed him, his rubbery lips kissing over his abs, the fake teeth too cold and too hot at the same time lightly gracing over. Charles would say the thing held back, but it’s a machine, it doesn’t have feelings, it’s probably measuring his whatever levels and– “Stop thinking Charlie, hush now.”

Charles’s mind spun, a chaotic blur of sensation and thought that refused to go quiet, even as Max’s low, commanding voice washed over him. His chest heaved as he struggled to focus, to catch his breath, but Max’s touch, his voice, and his relentless presence, made it impossible.

“Good boy,” Max murmured again, his fingers curling inside Charles with a precision that made his entire body arch off the mattress. The praise hit like a lightning bolt, short-circuiting whatever resistance Charles had left. His hands scrabbled for purchase on the sheets, the slick heat of his skin making everything slippery and raw.

“Ma-Max,” Charles stammered, his voice breaking as the thing shifted, pulling his fingers free before pressing a kiss to the inside of Charles’s trembling thigh. The sensation left Charles shivering, his thighs twitching involuntarily as Max’s lips moved in deliberate, featherlight patterns.

“You’re so desperate,” Max teased, his voice a blend of amusement and something darker, more possessive. “So needy. But that’s good. I like you this way, raw, honest. No hiding.”

Charles whimpered, a sound that escaped before he could stop it, his body writhing under Max’s control. He hated how much he loved this, hated how much he needed more. His pride felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the overwhelming desire coursing through him.

“Please,” he managed, his voice hoarse and unsteady. “Max, I– please.”

“Shhh,” Max soothed, his lips brushing along Charles’s stomach again, leaving a trail of lube in their wake. “I know what you need, Charlie. Trust me.”

Charles’s heart stuttered at the words, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name. He hated how much he wanted to trust Max – how much he already did, despite the impossibility of the situation. Every touch, every word, felt too perfect, too intimate, like Max had been built to know exactly how to unravel him.

“Say it,” Max murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns along Charles’s thigh. “Say what you want, Charles. I want to hear you.”

Charles’s face burned, his throat dry as he struggled to find the words. “I–” His voice faltered, his mind screaming at him to stop, to pull back, but his body had other ideas. “I want you inside me,” he whispered finally, his voice barely audible.

Max stilled for a moment, his sharp eyes locking onto Charles’s. The intensity of his gaze sent a fresh wave of heat through Charles’s body, leaving him squirming under the weight of it.

“Good boy,” Max said again, his voice soft but filled with approval. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

His head was spinning, did it mean an hour? Or is it coded into it? From the scan?

Charles’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm as Max moved again, positioning himself between Charles’s legs with an ease that made Charles’s head spin. The cool press of something slick and rubbery against his entrance made Charles gasp, his fingers curling into the sheets as anticipation coursed through him.

“Relax,” Max said again, his hands gripping Charles’s hips firmly, holding him in place. “I’ve got you.”

And with one slow, deliberate push, Max began to fill him.

Slow, he was clearly drinking in Charles, but all he could think about was how much he wished it was the real deal, it suddenly hit him, the shade of blue eyes staring at him was wrong.

Then Max moved.

Charles got dragged out of his head, with the moan that was ripped from him.

Max slammed back inside.

Bottoming out.

He was so big. Bigger. Biggest.

Charles cried.

“Good boy.” Max– the machine– it spat at him, and Charles wished the hands bruising his waist weren’t rubbery. He didn’t want this thing. He craved the warm flesh of Max. Not this.

He wants Max.

He cried more.

The pace was relentless, clearly meant to drag Charles out of his head and keep him out, yet it made him feel trapped. His arms flung around, his fingers tried to hold onto something, anything, just not rubber. No more rubber.

It was too good, too many feelings and emotions, and–

“Charles.”

His dick hurt.

It was hard again, a hand wrapped around it, up down squeeze, up–down–squeeze, updownsqueeze.

The machine kept going, it was brutal, rough, the type Charles dreamt about in the dark of hotel rooms, fantasising about as he wanked. Picturing Max, and navy blue, and red, and–

He was close again, too soon, too fast, too much.

He sobbed.

He could feel the warm sputtered strings of his own cum hit his abs, and the machine kept going. And going. And going.

It felt good, and wrong, and so so cold. The thing pulled out of him, and Charles looked at its face, it looked so happy, it looked wrong. It didn’t look like Max, when had he fooled himself into thinking it looked like Max?

It was too tall, too broad, the eyes were too lake blue and not enough ocean. His eyes had depth, this thing didn’t, it was one colour, one-sided. The teeth were straight and perfect, it was clean-shaven in a way Charles couldn’t help but associate with a Max so young they were still pushing each other off karting tracks.

The machine stood at the edge of the bed, too perfect and too wrong all at once. Its movements were unnervingly smooth, its posture confident yet unnatural. It tilted its head at Charles, the faint frown etched on its flawless features tugging at something deep in Charles’s stomach, but not in the way Max would have.

There was no fluttering feeling, only something that reminded him an awful lot of regret.

“I’m satisfied,” Charles said, his voice unsteady but resolute. He shifted against the sheets, trying to sit up, to put some distance between himself and the thing towering over him. “I was– I–I am. You did your thing.”

The words felt hollow even as he said them, and the machine’s expression shifted, its too-blue eyes narrowing as it studied him. That frown deepened, and Charles hated it. He hated the way it mimicked Max’s emotions without ever truly feeling them. It was an imitation, a lie wrapped in a perfect package, and he had been foolish to believe it for even a second.

He was a fool.

“You’re no longer satisfied,” the machine said softly, its voice carrying that familiar Dutch cadence but missing the subtle flaws that made Max’s voice so real. There was no lisp, no warmth, no life. It was Max’s voice as an idea, not a reality, and it grated against Charles’s ears. He didn’t know enough about AI to guess how its voice was made, but he knew there were better sound clips on TikTok, he had listened to them. (With and without his dick in his hand.)

Charles shook his head, his hands gripping the edge of the blanket as he tried to ground himself. “I was,” he insisted stubbornly, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty. “For a moment.”

The machine’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes. For a moment.”

“Then that fulfilled the contract,” Charles said, forcing the words out like a shield. “The clause, the– whatever. You can leave.”

The robot tilted its head again, the gesture unnervingly familiar yet completely alien. “What if I do not want to?”

The question sent a chill down Charles’s spine, his heart skipping a beat as he stared at the thing. The confidence in its tone, and the subtle challenge laced within the words. It was too much like Max in some ways and not enough in others.

“It is like this,” Charles said, his voice hardening as he clenched the blanket tighter. He forced himself to meet its gaze, even though it felt like staring into a void. “You are not Max.”

The machine blinked, its expression unreadable for a long, tense moment. Then, it took a step closer, its presence looming over Charles again. “I am not Max,” it repeated, its voice soft but firm. “But I am here. I am yours.”

Charles’s stomach twisted with a sharp pang of guilt, anger, and something he couldn’t name. He pushed himself further back on the bed, shaking his head. “No. You’re not mine. You’re a–” He gestured vaguely, his voice trembling. “You’re a thing. A machine. And you don’t belong here.”

The machine’s frown deepened, and for a split second, Charles thought he saw something like hurt flash across its face. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Machines couldn’t feel. They couldn’t want. This was all just programming, just algorithms designed to simulate emotions and reactions. A reflection of Max, but never Max.

“You asked for me,” it said quietly, its tone almost accusatory. “You brought me here.”

“I asked for– I bought a model car,” Charles snapped, his frustration bubbling over. “Not this. Not you.”

He could feel the lube had started to dry. It all felt as though he was running out of time, despite there being no deadline to catch.

The robot didn’t respond immediately. Instead, it stood there, watching him with an intensity that made Charles’s skin crawl. Then, it took another step closer, its movements slow, deliberate.

“You are unsatisfied,” it said finally, its voice low. “And I cannot leave you like this.”

Charles’s chest tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he scrambled to his feet, putting the bed between them. “No,” he said firmly, his voice trembling but loud. “I don’t care about you! You’re done. You’re leaving.”

The machine tilted its head again, its eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lying,” it said, the words cutting through Charles like a blade.

Charles froze, his heart hammering in his chest as the machine took another step forward. For a moment, he thought it might reach out to him, but it stopped, its hands at its sides.

“I am here because you needed me,” it said, its voice soft but unrelenting. “You still need me.”

“No,” Charles whispered, shaking his head. “I don’t.”

The machine’s gaze bored into him, unyielding. “Then why are you still trembling?”

His mind seemed to catch up with him, a line from the contract earlier. His throat was coarse and hurting as the word tore out of his mouth, “DEACTIVATE!”

The machine slumped over, its upper body crashing against the bed as it fell, before unceremonially slipping onto the floor.

He knew he could have done that from the first moment it pushed his buttons, yet he wanted the fantasy of Max, maybe the stupid thing was right. Charles wasn’t satisfied. It didn’t matter.

He was naked, angry, and so incredibly bone-tired, and now he was trying to box up a thing– a robot that had fucked him, and desperately hoping it didn’t have hidden cameras in its eyes or something. It was a relatively quick process of stuffing it back into the box.

He had played along far longer than he should have, it was a stupid robot, and it wasn’t Max.

Charles wished it had been Max.

Enough so, he didn’t think twice that the return label would have it shipped to a certain factory in Milton Keyes.

He really should have learned to read the fine print.