You know that he has a thing for domination, otherwise he would never be so hung up on that girl Real. That is why, when you push him down and pull him apart he stays so cool. His body is young - so young - but his eyes are ageless as they shine up at you with the lights of an entire city reflected in them and twisted to madness. That is what you see because that is what you feel when you're fumbling in the dark, fingers finding seams and pulling with a wantonness that has never existed in you before, so it must be madness. The ribs under his cool, taunt skin are so thin you imagine for a moment just reaching in and snapping one in your hand. He sucks in his stomach as your hand brushes against it, a gasp of surprise as if he is as shocked by the warmth of your hand as you are of the coolness of his body. Even an android has more warmth than this. Especially the ones made for this.

He only struggles a little as you hold him down, perhaps bruising and perhaps not, because you aren't really paying attention to that. You are sure he enjoys it either way. And even if he doesn't, you will, after. Now there is only your mouth teasing at the soft underside of his chin, the hollow above his tiny Adam's apple where a gun's barrel could fit so comfortably. It doesn't take much strength to push his legs to either side as you kneel between them, but he does push his fingers into your loose hair as you do. His little pink nipples are only grey in the darkness, darker after your teeth and lips and tongue leave them. He hasn't made a sound yet, but he will.

Your fingers find the sweet spot there - yes, just there - and curl viciously. His body jerks like electricity had been plugged into his body, responding perfectly to every touch. He is biting his lip and even as he arches his back off of the mattress - your mattress - he looks at you with those eyes from below his dark eyelashes. Perfectly created, you think, and play with him only a little longer as he thrashes against you and then digs his fingers into your hair until you kiss him. His hair is a mess, twisting everywhere like a black hole against the stark white of the pillow.

You suddenly want to fuck him hard, and so you do. Without warning, you pull your fingers out and push your cock in. Finally, he screams. His voice rises to the ceiling and out the window, gratifying and raw. It finishes in a half-sob as you lift his hips up and balance him in one hand. When you work out every morning, this is all you can think of. The power of fucking him, thrusting into this tiny, willful body. The fragile body of the child genius, the eyes of the scheming madman. It is gratifying to hear his screams, half pleasure half pain half plan, especially after that time you accused him of doing it intentionally and then flipped him over an examining table and fucked him raw until he shook and collapsed. That time, his eyes had flashed hatred from his slumped and bleeding position on the floor, and that had been enough to get you through weeks.

His nails, perfectly manicured and unblemished just like yours, dig into your shoulders, your neck, your spine, your scalp, your arms. You know he's hard because you can feel his wet hardness brush against your stomach as you lift him up and harder against you, but you never touch it. That would be going too far. He is here to give you pleasure, not the other way around. The pads of your feet are dug into the bed as you drive forward and he shakes with every - single - fucking - movement. You come.

He comes. Trembling, he makes one final, mournful cry. Wetness spills against your stomach and his back arches away from your hand. Lowering him down, you decide not to pull out right away. He whimpers and his eyes flicker open and shut deliriously, but you know he is still there, unbroken.

Perhaps you will do it again tonight, many times over. He doesn't break, and perhaps for that you are - falling - in - l - o - v - e.