Robot Boyfriend Booker (complete)

    You had recently gotten a job working at the infamous Hephaestus Academy. It was a dream career you had been hoping for. You were working in the therapy center, helping students and instructors alike. It was amazing, but then there was your coworker, Booker.

    He was a cyborg. At one point he had been a normal man, but he had donated his body to science and research. All the remained human of him was his brain, or so he claimed. As far as you could tell there was nothing mortal about this guy anymore. 

    He was tall and heavy, his body is like black armor. He wears suits, but even under the clothes, you can see the flashing lights of his body underneath. His head has a smooth face where lights shine, showing off his expressions and emotions when he wants. 

    Ever since you started working at the academy, the two of you have had to work together. According to your supervisor, she wanted both a human and a robotic element in the therapy center. She wanted to make the students, especially the robot ones, feel more welcome and able to open up. With both of you, that was possible.

    But Booker seemed not to want to work with you. He often went over your head or ignored your recommendations. 

    “It’s not necessary,” he says to you. “If I needed your help, I would have asked for it.”

    It takes you aback, but you brush it off. The next time you go to into his office to hand him your half of a report he waves you off.

    “I have everything I need. No need for it,” Booker says, not looking up from his desk.

    You furrow your brow and stare him down. “But you said earlier you needed these,” you hold out the papers again. “I worked all morning on getting these ready.”

    Booker is quiet, almost as if he is ignoring you. 

    You scoff. “You could have told me it wasn’t necessary earlier!”

    “I’ll be sure to be more clear with my instructions next time,” Booker answers. “But you should also learn to pay closer attention to them as well.”

    I stand there, unsure what to say or do. You step out of his office, ready to snap as it was.

Finally, one day, you had enough.

    You walk into his office, ready to fight if you had to. You glare down at him as he looks up from his desk.

    “Yes?” He asks, his voice has a slight metallic ring to it.

    If he wasn’t such an aggravating asshole, you might think he was sexy. The way his shirt was unbuttoned and the broadness of his shoulders was an allure, but his attitude ruined what could be a good piece of eye candy.

    “I don’t like how you treat me when we work together,” you snap at him. “You’re undermining and demeaning, and it makes me feel-”

    “Like shit,” he says. “I know.”

    You scowl at him. “Oh!” You scoff. “You do?”

    Booker nods simply. “There’s a lot of big personalities at this school. You’re a fresh-faced kid who has jumped out of the oven and into the frying pan.”

    You can feel your face scrunching up.

    Booker stands up. “I’m trying to toughen you-” 

    You throw your clipboard at him like a frisbee, and it chops him in his neck. “Bullshit!” You bark at him.

    Booker stares at you a moment, a yellow exclamation point flashes on his face.

    “Toughen me up?” You scoff at him. “Why not just tell me I’m not ready? Why not just talk to me instead of treating me like a child?”

    Booker huffs and eases back. He rolls up the sleeves on his shirt. “I’m not used to working with-”

    “Sure, I’m fresh out of an internship, and I may not have the experience necessary for this job. But I was chosen! I passed the tests and everything. Go ask Mrs. Harsbee for my recommendation letters and accolades. My work speaks for itself even if I am young.”

    “No, I wasn’t going to-” he grunts and a red dot flashes on his face. “I was going to say I’m not used to working with women.”

    You jerk back for a moment then frown at him. “Do you want a better shovel for the hole you’re digging yourself?”

    “Yes!” He snaps. “Probably,” he pulls back, placing his hand on his desk. 

    You fold your arms against your chest. “So you’re treating me this way because I’m a woman?”

    “No!” He balks. “Yes-” he cups his hand around his head. “No, of course not it’s just-” his face flashes multiple red dots.

    You scoff and look aside. You’re pissed, but suddenly you feel like you’ve attacked the guy without knowing anything about him. Sure, he’s not been welcoming to you, but you haven’t opened any doors for him either.

    “I-” Booker starts then stops. “I was in the military since I was seventeen. I’ve not had the opportunity to work with many women. I grew up with five brothers my dads raised.” He huffs. “That’s no excuse for being a dick to you but-”

    “Oh,” you murmur. 

    “Back in the military, it was a tactic to make the new guys tougher and stand up for themselves. I slipped into old habits. You’re not a soldier, and I’m not a commander.” He rubs the back of his head. “I apologize.”

    “Well,” you grumble. “I accept. And well, it kind of worked,” you admit in defeat. “I did try to stand up for myself.”

    “I was wondering why you kept refusing to work with me,” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t see over my own ass I suppose.”

    You look him over and shrug. “It’s ok. We both have things to work on I think when it comes to each other.”

    “Yeah,” he nods readily. 

    “So seriously,” you ask. “You’ve really not worked with any women?”

    He shrugs. “Some, but to be honest, when I was in the military it wasn’t a place to think of that thing. We just acted and did what we had to do.”

    “And you grew up in a house with eight men?” You huff. “I thought my three sisters was a handful.”

    Booker laughs, tucking his hands behind his back. “One of my dads worked at an at-risk youth center. Sometimes he came home with boys who just never left.” He looks down at one of the framed photos on his desk. 

    “Listen, Booker,” you murmur. “I think both of us need to learn how to work together better. Not just for us but for the students here. If we’re off kilter-”

    “Then everything is,” he looks up at you. “I agree. So what do you suggest?”

    You suddenly laugh. “I was going to say coffee but-”

    Booker waves his hand up and down. “I don’t drink coffee anymore. It’s bad for my health.”

    You laugh and nod. “I can see why it would be.”

    “If it’s bonding exercises you suggest then how about music?” Booker asks.

    “What do you have in mind?” You tilt your head towards him.

    “There’s a small bar not far from here. A friend of mine plays the piano there. Sometimes there’s a singer. I enjoy the atmosphere even if I can’t drink anymore.”

    You’re a bit surprised by the suggestion. It sounds like a rather intimate and romantic setting, especially for two people, who until moments ago, didn’t like one another. 

    “Ok, that sounds really nice,” you reply.

    “Friday?” Booker opens up his calendar on his face. You see the grid of days and then a blue dotting scanning through them until it reaches this coming Friday.

    “Oh,” you gasp, still not used to his face and what it can do. “Sure.”

    The blue dot flashes and marks the calendar. The calendar then closes, and there’s a blue smiley face there on the screen. “Perfect. I’ll take you after work then.”

    You leave his office, and then you stand stunned in yours. You had gone into Booker’s office to yell at him and vent out all your frustrations. Instead, you left liking him a little and with something akin to a date.

    “Whoa, he’s good,” you whisper to yourself.

    You often go to eat in the teacher’s lounge during lunch. There you find Mina and Tori, head mechanic of the school, sitting there and chatting.

    “Come sit,” Mina pats the chair beside her.

    Meeting Mina was like meeting a celebrity. She is Hephaestus’ wife and the co-founder of the academy. She was also one of the best mechanics on the planet, or so rumors went. Tori was one of her best friends growing up and worked alongside Mina most of their lives. She was also in a relationship with Hug, one of the robot instructors at the school.

    “How’s everything going with Booker?” Mina asks.

    You sigh and grumble. “Not sure.”

    “I get that,” Tori replies. “Booker is one of the most awkward people I have ever met. Even if he was human once, I don’t think he ever knew how to act around people.”

    “That’s why he suggested hiring someone to work with him,” Mina replies.

    “He suggested?” You ask.

    Mina nods. “He’s a brilliant therapist, but he needs that human touch sometimes. He drove Mrs. Humbrees crazy when he first started working here.”

    “Me too,” you admit. “I actually just kind of yelled at him. If he didn’t looking like some evil hellhound version of a robot, I would have done it sooner,” you slouch in your chair.

    “What’d you say?” Mina asks.

    “I went in there, ready to hammer down the law, he got defensive, but then he said he’s not used to working with women,” you glance up at Mina and Tori. “So, I guess I kind of let him off the hook.”

    “That might explain a few things,” Tori murmurs.

    “Yeah, really,” Mina chuckles. “When I did his interview with Heff, he never talked to me. He only ever talked to Heff. I was wondering why he seemed so uptight.”

    That evening when you get home, you notice a few emails from Booker. The first one is another apology, kind of long and heavy-handed, but you appreciate the effort. The second one is the menu from the bar he’s taking you, so that way you know what to expect. The third is his phone number, in case you needed it. 

    You text him so he will have yours and then go to get in the shower. When you return you find that Booker has replied with a smiley face. This bothers you, for some reason. For one, you rarely, if ever, use emojis yourself. For another, Booker seems like the last person to ever use an emoji, especially the cute blushy smiley face one.

    “Thank you for the menu,” you text him. “That’s a big help.”

    “Anytime,” he almost instantly replies back.

    You feel a bit off-put, not sure how to handle this, so you just set your phone aside and go to scavenge your fridge for something to eat. As you’re making a sandwich your phone chimes.

    Booker has sent a picture of a small dog in his lap. “This is Captain,” he says.

    You smile, unable to deny the little dog has the cutest face, and its uneven ears look so soft. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

    “I’ve not had Captain long, but I’ve always tried to keep a pet at home with me,” Booker answers. 

    You sit down on the sofa with your sandwich and a drink. 

    “Do you have any pets?” Booker texts.

    You don’t. You only recently moved here and have barely unpacked anything. You’re basically living out of boxes. 

    “Maybe,” you answer, “once I get settled.”

    “The shelter down from the school is great. That’s where I got Captain.” Booker answers as instantly as before.

    “I’ll keep that in mind thanks.” You set your phone down and start to eat. You turn on the TV and then your phone chimes again.

    It’s another picture of Captain, this time he’s asleep in Booker’s lap.

    “I was grading papers and was about to get up, now I’m stuck here until he wakes up,” Booker says.

    You smile. “Well, that’s what you get for having a pet.”

    “I suppose that’s true.” Booker laments.

    You and Booker keep a long chat open. It stops while you’re both at work, but when you get home, Booker is like like an open, well, book. At work, he doesn’t seem to have that same openness. He’s quiet most of the time when he’s not talking to those who come into the therapy room. And when he does talk to you, it’s mainly about work.

    “Is it easier for you to text than it is to talk?” You ask him one evening before settling into bed.

    “It is,” he admits. “I can think about what I’m going to say. I can plan it and take my time. When I talk, I find I’m prone to shoving my foot into my mouth.”

    You can’t help but laugh. “Well, I get that.”

    “It is nice being able to talk to you.” Your heart suddenly hammers. “I only have a few people I talk to regularly. I find the more people I can talk to the better things seem to go.”

    “I enjoy talking to you too. I hope we can talk at the bar tomorrow.”

    “To be honest,” Booker answers, “I’m nervous about that.”

    You furrow your brow. “Why? We’re friends.”

    “That’s just the thing, it’s more than that. I feel like my friendship with you is different than my friendship with others.”

    Your heart skips a beat again. 

    “It’s getting late. I shouldn’t open this can of worms now. Good night.”

    “Good night,” you answer, eager to set your phone aside. You weren’t ready for the can to open either, but at the same time, you also wanted to hear Booker say the rest.

    The next day at work, Booker is already in his office. He doesn’t come out to say good morning, and he tries to avoid you as the day goes in, in fact, he goes out of his way to not be around you. The one time you do pass by him in the hall, you think that perhaps there were pink hearts on his face. But Booker darted off too fast for you to be sure.

    Finally, that evening he had no excuse to run from you. You step into his office, having changed into more suitable clothes for the evening. You ready?”

    Booker keeps his head ducked down. “Yeah. Just a few moments.” he peeks up briefly, and his screen flashes all yellow for a second. 

    You had found some old clothes while unpacking. They were a bit tight on you, but they looked great. 

    Booker fidgets and stands up, dropping the folder and all its contents on the ground. “Crap,” he snarls and scrambles to pick it up. 

    “Need any help?” You offer.

    “No!” He shoves his hand up in the air. “Just stay there I’ve got it.”

    You bite back your grin and stand aside. Eventually, he gets everything back and order and just leaves the folder on his desk. He grabs up his jacket and whats by you. “Ok, let's go.”

    You try to keep up with him, but he stays a few paces ahead of you. You manage to catch up to him and grab his arm. 

    “My legs aren’t as long as yours, hold up!” You pant.

    An electric jolt shoots through your palm where you touch him, and you wrench back. Booker is standing still on the street, and you see if face is flashing between red and pink.

    “Sorry,” he then juts his hand out before you. “Here.”

    You reach out, taking his hand. His palm is covered in rubbery little beads, probably made for gripping. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. You can’t help but smile, and his pace slows to keep up with yours.

    Once you get to the bar, you’re taken to a booth that feels rather intimate. The bar is nice, and the piano music is lovely. As you settle in and make your order, you see Booker is staring down at his hands and fidgeting.

    “Everything ok?” You ask. “You seemed kind of distant today.”

    “Nervous,” Booker grumbles.

    You stop from taking a drink and look at him. His face is flashing little hearts. “Nervous?”

    He sighs and looks up at you. He reaches out across the table and takes hold of your hand. “I’ve grown very fond of you,” he replies. “When you first came into the office, I liked you. I suppose that’s another reason for my rude behaviour.” He huffs. “Talking to you made me like you even more,” he rubs the back of your hand. “And now-”

You squeeze his hand back. “I think I’m falling for you too, Booker.” You smile up shyly at him, seeing the pink hearts have grown into one big one in the center of his face. You grin and lean across the table, placing a small kiss on his face.

The heart bursts and his whole screen turns red. “Oh, oh shit.” He leans back, clasping his hands over his face.

“Is something wrong?” You ask.

“Not exactly,” he grumbles. “I’m just not used to this.” He sighs and looks around sheepishly. “There are functions of mine that are going into overdrive as we speak.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head. “Are you ok? Do we need to go?”

“I just need to calm down,” he groans.

You get up and move to his side of the booth, as you sit down you realize he’s got a massive problem in his lap. 

“Oh,” you gasp. You glance up at Booker. “I didn’t realize you could-”

He shakes his head and places a finger on your lips. “It’s something I requested when I offered myself to the project,” he growls. “Just…” he clears his throat. “Let’s talk about something else to take my mind off it.”

You look around, realizing the booth you’re in is pretty private. “Shh,” you whisper to him. You reach down, rubbing his through his pants.

Booker whines and his lights flash brightly. “Wait-” he wheezes.

You unzip his pants and pull him out. You marvel a bit at the size. It feels rubbery and a little squishy at the tip. Around the base and along the sides, there are metal scales where a red light shines through them. It’s fairly thick and bulges along the bottom.

“Hey-” Booker grips your wrist.

You stroke him as his heat pulses through your palm. You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Does this feel good?”

Booker throws his head back and groans. “Yes,” he gasps. “Very good.”

You dip down, licking his tip and sucking on it. Booker gasps and moans, his hips bucking as his shaft goes into your mouth. You pull back up and press into his side again, stroking him under the table.

“You taste like rubber,” you giggle. “And baby oil.”

Booker tilts down, pressing his screen to your lips. “Thank you?” He says, breathless.

“I bet you’d feel good inside,” you purr, suddenly feeling dangerous. You can’t deny that this is turning you on. “You’re so thick, I bet you’d stretch me quite a bit.”

Booker chokes and groans. He places his hand around his face. “Don’t talk like that,” he groans. “It’s too good.”

You laugh and take his hand, guiding it to your breast. “Can you feel that?”

Booker groans. “Soft,” he glances down at you. “You’re driving me haywire,” he pants. “I’ve never done it...like this.” 

You kiss his screen again, pumping his cock in your fist. “What’s your recovery like?”

He squeezes your breast and tugs at the fabric, your buttons popping off. You gasp, and Booker presses into you. He groans heatedly in your ear as you feel his cock throb. It gushes something warm and slick on your fingers.

“Fuck,” Booker snarls. “Look what you’ve done,” he chuckles.

You smirk and kiss his screen again. “You ripped my shirt.”

“I’ll rip it more if you like,” he growls into your ear.

You face flushes, and you look up at him. His hand is in your lap, and it’s sliding up under your skirt. You pinch your thighs together, trapping him there as the waiter comes up.

“Are you ready to order your meal now?” The waiter asks.

You know your face is bright red and yet, Booker’s fingers still travel north. They squish against your soaking panties, and you squeak.

“Actually, can you give us a few more minutes?” Booker asks. “She’s not ready.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” The waiter moves on, and Booker’s fingers press against your panties.

“Booker,” you pant.

“It’s only fair,” he whispers as he pushes aside your panties. “It seems you needed some tending to anyways,” he groans as his fingers dip inside you.

You gasp and shudder, squeezing around his intruding fingers. 

“Did making me cum get you this wet?” He growls into your ear. “Or is it because we could have gotten caught?”

You reach into his lap, palming his cock again. “Why not both?”

Booker looks around then pulls you over to him, placing you in his lap. He pulls up your skirt all the way and then tugs at your panties until they rip off.

“Hey,” you whine.

“Shh,” Booker whispers. “It won’t take long.”

You know you should stop. You should leave, go home, and fuck Booker in the privacy of your own home. But the need is strong between both of you. The temptation is too great. You rub against him, feeling his thick cock start to grow hard again. You whimper as his hard fingers dig into your hips. He eases you down, and his cock begs for entrance.

Booker snarls and grunts, finally finding the purchase he craves. His cock slips inside you, and it indeed causes a stretch. Booker cups his hand over your mouth as he fits inside place. He growls into your ear as his free hand slips into your top, groping your breast hungrily.

“Stay quiet for me,” he moans. “I promised to make it quick.”

You nearly scream when the vibrations start. You swoon and tremble as his thick cock starts to move. The vibrations and his grinding feel so good. His thickness alone made you weak.

“You feel so fucking good,” Booker growls into your ear. “Thank you. Thank you!”

You suck on his fingers as they slip into your mouth. Your head is blank, and all you can feel is Booker and his cock. You surge, and your back arches. You throw your head back over his shoulder, and his fingers keep your from moaning too loud. He grunts and moans, releasing deep inside you.

You go limp and useless in his arms, breathing heavy as you gaze up at the great big smile on his face. You giggle slipping from his lap. All of a sudden, you’re painfully aware of where you are.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you gasp, holding your face in your hands.

Booker sighs, and he taps his screen to the top of your head. “Me too. But I enjoyed it.” He then tilts his head. “Did you not?”

You look up at him as he puts his coat around you to cover your torn blouse. “Of course I did. I mean...when you started vibrating I about lost my mind completely.” You giggle and bite your lip. “You should have warned me.”

He laughs. “Sorry, I told you, it was my first time using that thing on a real pussy.” He kisses your cheek.

“You must be hungry now right?” he asks. “Let me wave down the waiter.”

You grab his arm, realizing his fingers are still slick with your cum. “No!” You gasp. “Just take me home!”