Tri Sexual

He was here somewhere - he? They? It? Whatever, who the fuck honestly cared? Johnny was going to put a foot in the thing's ass, anyway. Or asses. How did it even work in this case?

Pff. Whatever. He already hated the obnoxious son of a bitch. Ermac was bad enough. Maybe he'd bust out the good ol' nut punch, if it even worked on-

THUNK!

And... there it was, right on cue. Cinematic. He could appreciate that much, at least.

"Oh, look. A robot," Johnny sneered as Triborg made an irritatingly graceful three-point landing from... wherever. They were on a bridge, under the open sky - the stupid asshole was just showing off, at this point.

The blue-hued cyborg stood and stared back coldly. "Earthrealm's clown," it shot back, probably wishing it could flash a stupid little smirk at its weak burn.

Well, you can't, now can you, R2-D2?! Stick that in your tailpipe and smoke it! Johnny shook his head in disgust, whipping out his prized $500 shades and sliding them on with a scowl. He hadn't been a clown, he'd been a mime. Even Sonya knew that much. Goddamn dense talking vibrator. "Is it mechanically possible for you to fuck yourself?"

He expected the responding advance.

He just hadn't expected it to be so... sensual. As though it were imitating Mileena - if Mileena not only was a cyborg, but didn't have a face uglier than Reptile's taint.

Taking up a defensive stance, Johnny's brow furrowed in confusion as the cyborg's hips swayed, the heavy clomps of its metallic footfalls undermining any sort of simmering, sexual air it may have been attempting. "Dude. No."

"...Yes, it is, Johnny Cage," Triborg breathed, somehow, its tone unexpectedly tender. No, not just tender. Seductive. "...It is possible."

The rolling waves, the corpses rising and sinking in the murky water, were all lost and forgotten beneath that definitive statement. Triborg reached a cold, steely hand up and cupped Johnny's face lovingly, causing the failed actor to give an instinctive flinch and stumble back. Even by the salt air, it hadn't rusted.

Triborg sighed, letting its hand drop morosely. "...I see."

"W T F," Johnny spelled out flatly, rubbing the spot where Triborg had touched him. It tingled. And, despite the chill of the metal...

His face warmed like a Japanese schoolgirl's.

"I do not 'fuck' myself, Johnny Cage," Triborg murmured, suddenly looking vulnerable. It folded its arms protectively over its midsection, turning its head to the side, and...

"You've gotta be shitting me, man."

The inexplicably blushing robot looked out to the sea wistfully. "I do not 'shit' you, either. For, you see..."

The cruel, soulless blue glare leveled back, reflecting off the human's shades.

"...I wish to save the honor of 'fucking' me... for you."

For once in his life, Johnny Cage was speechless. He, too, blushed a deep Skarlet as the cyborg turned around and - with a steamy hiss from its hydraulic system - opened up a hatch in its rear, dripping inky oil. Triborg's head rotated 180 degrees, now turning to face Johnny directly with an impassive expression that the actor found very hot.

"I am ready for you," it rumbled lovingly, in its deep, threatening voice. "I wish for it to hurt. Make me a Man-borg, failed actor."

Johnny nodded, whipping it out. "...O-oh. ...O-okay... T-Triborg-kun..."

"Johnny-chan," the cyborg moaned huskily, feeling the human enter him and begin thrusting steadily. "Make me cyborgasm."

"This'll be my first porno," Johnny grunted, gripping Triborg's shoulders for support as he continued to RAM himself in. His lover had picked up his penchant for awful puns. It was so on now. And in. And out. And in again, and out again. Shit, he'd leave Sonya in a heartbeat if it meant coming home to this sweet ass every night. "Get your buddies out of you so we can have a real cyborgy, babe!"

"P-pun... detected. Er... eroticize," Triborg moaned, as Johnny-

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A thin sheen of sweat coating his body, Johnny bolted up in bed with a thrashing, sheet-flapping start, jolting his wife out of her own slumber with a confused snort.

"Johnny?" Sonya mumbled groggily, sitting up and fixing a concerned, bleary gaze on him. One hand massaged her still-aching temple, while the other stroked his shoulder - and quickly got swatted away. Dickhead. "Everything okay?"

"I almost fucked a robot," Johnny mumbled, ignoring Sonya's concerns and burying his face in his hands with a violent shudder. "Jesus Christ."

Still half-asleep and inexplicably thinking the comment had been aimed at her, Sonya's face contorted into a tired scowl. "Hey, fuck you, okay? I said I had a headache!" With an exasperated growl, she gave her confused and irritable husband a punch to the back of the head, causing him to yell in pain, before she grunted and flopped back down to go to sleep. "Asshole."

"Bitch," Johnny breathed in shock, brow furrowed in confused anger as he watched Sonya give her pillows a few rough punches before closing her eyes. Maybe it was the change. She was getting up there, after all, despite her youthful looks.

With a disgruntled noise, Johnny got up and stormed out of their bedroom and downstairs, nowhere near in the mood to deal with any of her bullshit, or his own bullshit, or any bullshit at the moment. At least Cass isn't here to give me any of her bullshit, he thought with a wry, grateful smirk as he reached the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of overpriced whiskey, a small tumbler, and a few ice cubes. The dream was still going strong in his mind, and he figured - as he poured himself a glass and took a satisfying pull - if he was going to hurl, best to do it because he was hammered. Hammered, just like Triborg's butth-

That's enough of that kind of thinking, Cage. He grimaced and shuddered again, eyes pinched shut at the wonderful sting of the alcohol warming him from within. Good one, though, buddy.

Still, with another shot burning a wonderful path down his throat moments later, he mused that the worst of it all hadn't even been the disturbingly vivid dream, so rich in detail that he could feel the sensations, imagine the sights and sounds as if they were recent memories, with Cassie and Jacqui watching curiously from the shadows - Cassie with her iPhone instinctively held out to record the sordid affair, Jacqui probably wishing deep down that she was Johnny, and that Johnny was Triborg.

No, the worst part of it all was that the dream had made his dick so goddamn hard.

Author's Notes: JOHNNY CAGE WINS. FRIENDSHIP - FRIENDSHIP?! AGAIN?!

Or maybe it's called an Anality?

Yes, I decided that for some reason, I needed to take a quick step outside of Harvest Moon and grace the Mortal Kombat fandom with my presence. You're welcome. If you didn't ship this before, well... that's good. You probably shouldn't.

Feel free to perform a REVIEWALITY! if you'd like. Or just uppercut my head off three times in a row, whatever. I can't say I don't deserve it after this.