A/N: So I basically wrote this little flash fic thing forever ago for /y/, and since this is the only thing I really have written out to post on this account, I thought I'd put it out there, I guess. Don't take it seriously, of course, since it's sort of mind-numbingly stupid and I didn't go through it for mistakes at all, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Andy's favorite toys. What meaning did that title have anymore? They sat in the corners of his room, under desks, in the chest where he kept them most often, but never in his arms, never in the warmth of his smile, never in his lap as he did homework or ate or perhaps even played at reading to them, never guessing that they understood and loved every word. Now they were nothing.
Woody sighed from his place on Andy's shelf, staring down as Andy gazed on naked human bodies in the form of pictures on a screen or gasped in the throes of carnal pleasure as he rubbed that strange, long part of himself, running his thumb around the tip and moving his grip up and down until it seeped or even spurted milky white liquid.
It seemed that Andy's interests had moved beyond playing or even the girls he once brought to his room to kiss and cuddle. Now that he was an adult, he kept pictures of male friends on his mirrors, leaning in to kiss that special one every morning before he went out to face the world, and Woody wondered what the use of it was if he never brought his friends to kiss and cuddle.
It seemed that Andy thought so one day as well, for he left with a happy expression, whispering to the picture that this was the day. He came home late and flung himself down on the bed, not even bothering to do his favorite thing. This worried Woody, but he thought he might have a way, finally, to fix it. He carefully climbed down, careful not to wake his owner, and softly ran his fingers along his lips in a caressing motion. The boy puckered his lips, his tongue flickering out to lick his fingers in a strangely affectionate way, and Woody knew he was doing whatever he was doing correctly.
He carefully unbuttoned the boy's shirt as he had often seen in the videos Andy was forever touching himself to, marveling at the softness and grace of the curves of his chest. He carefully reached up, rubbing the little nubs of his nipples slowly. He was rewarded with a groan, and he carefully traced little spirals down the chest and downward, where he knew his most difficult task awaited.
He had a little difficulty with the jean button, but it finally came free and he tugged the thing through the hole in the front of his owner's underwear, marveling at the way it twitched and stiffened under his touch. He stared at it for a moment, unsure what to do, and finally he took a deep breath and touched his tiny plastic lips to the tip in a tender kiss. He loved his master, and it was a good toy's job to give its owner fun. If this was Andy's fun, so be it. He would play the game as well. He was rewarded by a seeping clear bead of fluid. He smiled and hugged the thing tightly, releasing his grip only to tighten his grip again. The boy moaned again, louder, and soon his groans were constant, the rhythm of his pleasure matched by the rhythm of Woody's hugs and strokes. He felt the thing begin pulsating faster, Andy's back arching as he moaned louder than he ever had, even in his best fantasies and dreams. Andy finally shuddered, the white, sticky fluid shooting out as Andy's face took on a huge, peaceful smile. Woody narrowly dodged it and began to climb down when the sound of a plastic step arrested him, freezing him in place with an almost guilty expression on his face. Buzz slid out from the other side of Andy's thing with a smile that was full of approval and support.
"Looked like you could use a little help," he said, taking Woody's hand affectionately.
"Oh," Woody sighed with relief, glad his actions had not been seen as somehow aberrant. Buzz smiled.
"He needed us," he said. "We are his favorite toys." Woody smiled back.
"And we will give him whatever he needs forever," he finished, and Buzz covered his lips in a kiss.