Authors: Rachael Eyre
“Why? You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“I love it when you swear. It turns me on.”
“Really?”
Alfred roamed across his body, kisses interspersed with a cuss word and caress. He felt Josh’s excitement grow against his leg.
“You did that,” Josh said huskily. “It wants you.”
Alfred slid between his thighs and began to lick. Teasing, running his tongue around it, nuzzling. In a swift movement he took Josh’s cock into his mouth and sucked ravenously. Josh twined his legs around him. He dug his nails into his back and pumped his hips. Alfred’s mouth was bruised and aching, but gods, he wanted it. Josh increased his pounding, beside himself. He poured into Alfred’s mouth, sweet and troubling.
After Alfred had washed his beard and mouth, lying on his side to cuddle him, Josh said, “We should get married.”
Good thing Alfred had finished, he might have choked. “What?”
“You heard.”
“You’re wearing sex goggles, love.”
“I want to divorce Claire and marry you. What’s wrong with that?”
“Do I have any say?”
“This is serious, isn’t it? It’s for keeps.”
“Well, yes, but -”
“What better way of showing we’re committed?”
“To start with, it’s not possible.”
“Because we’re both men?”
“No, that’s fine. The Prime Minister’s been with her wife for years. The Queen’s middle son married his bodyguard. Nobody minds, apart from a few idiots.”
“I never knew that.”
“It’s our friend Clause 57. ‘It is a criminal offence for a person judged mentally unfit to engage in transgressive sexual relations with non human life forms or artificial intelligences’.”
Josh pouted. “There’s nothing artificial about my intelligence.”
“It lists the ways this can be violated, not least ‘living together in a pretend relationship.’”
“I’m not going to roll over and take it. If I could marry Claire -”
“What are you thinking of doing?”
“I’m going to tell all the robots in the world.” As Alfred raised his eyebrows, “What’s the point in giving us intelligence but no rights? They must hate it as much as we do.”
“Cora’s friends seem happy.”
“Only because they don’t know any better. We can’t be the only ones in our situation. If we get more couples to prove they’re in love, they’ll have to listen.”
“It’s going to be tough.”
“Anything worth doing is.”
Alfred knew it was ridiculous to be this happy. Reporters buzzed around the gates, Perversion Prevention would turn up any day - he knew all that. He also knew he and Josh could communicate with a single touch, kept bursting into laughter, couldn’t get enough of each other. On the rare occasions they were apart, he only had to receive their secret signal - a blue rose - to go flying to Josh and take him in his arms.
They made love every night. Mouth against mouth, body against body. Riding Josh, sinking hands into his flesh. Hot cries against his ear, plucking kisses by the roots. Josh seemed unnerved by his desire. He’d confide everything in a shy murmur - “All the ways I want you,” as he put it.
Afterwards they lay pressed together, Josh’s thigh over his, golden hair damp against his jaw. When they slept they coiled around one another, Josh’s head fitting exactly between Alfred’s chin and shoulder. He couldn’t believe the artificial was beside him, that he’d offer up his lithe body and full lips to his idolatry.
“Is it sinful to love somebody too much?” Josh asked once.
That made Alfred sit up. “What bollocks is that?”
“The old gods hated personal loves. They punished it mercilessly.”
“No wonder they went out of fashion.”
“It’s just - these stories you’ve told me. Hardly any have happy endings. I wondered if that was why.”
“Love’s worth everything.”
“You didn’t think that when I met you.”
“You’ve taught me otherwise.”
Their third night together, Josh whispered, “Let me do it to you.” Alfred blushed in spite of himself.
Josh coaxed him onto his back, hooked his arms beneath Alfred’s thighs and entered him. He’d heard stories - “it’s like hydraulics,” one eye watering account claimed - but had nothing to fear. It was slow, deep and intense, just the way he liked it.
Before Alfred had thought that if he didn’t come soon, he would die. Now he fought to prolong it, float in rapture. Josh looked divine from this angle. Hips moving, chest gleaming, face intent. He had a mouth on him to make Nanny blush. Already he had said, “I want to watch.” Now, sliding dreamily in and out, “I can feel you gripping me. You’re so hot and tight.”
“Josh, you can’t
say
that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
He was so deep, yet Alfred wanted more. “Fuck me till I scream.”
He stilled for a moment, then changed gear. Building momentum, a battering ram hammering his core, blasting his defences. It drove through him, cleaved him in two. He gritted his teeth, clawed Josh’s back. It teetered past agony but he didn’t want him to stop. They moved beyond pain or sanity. There was a moment of weightlessness, of looking down, before they were seized by an orgasm so electrifying it frightened them.
“Was that what you wanted?”
“Gods, yes. It’s funny. I never used to like being made love to.”
“What do you think now?”
“Let me get my breath back and you can have a second helping.”
Sometimes Alfred was paranoid. What was the likelihood of him, a former robophobe, falling in love with a robot? He’d pissed off enough people; it’d be the perfect revenge. Did Josh feel it when they had sex? Robots were programmed to please - might they be programmed to come to order?
Alfred only thought like this when he was alone. When Josh was in his arms - comforting him after nightmares, sharing his thoughts, dancing in nothing but a pair of rubber boots - he shook it off. When Josh looked at him he felt like Emperor of the world.
Walking in the woods, Josh said he had something to show him. He wavered into nothingness. Alfred panicked, remembering CER’s attempts at invisibility. Josh sprang from a tree, landing on top of him. Worry turned to arousal. He had him up against the trunk, Josh’s legs around his waist.
“Alfred?”
“Yes?” He kissed the button nose.
“When we make love -” the green eyes gleamed - “everything falls away. You’re all I see.”
“Robots can’t be romantic, eh?”
“This one can.”
An Unwelcome Visitor
When twenty invitations were returned unopened, it was the last straw.
Gwyn had tried to hold onto her temper. She could ignore stares, nudges and spit. Staff giving notice could be replaced. But when the rally invitations came back, offensive graffiti across them, she snapped. She went down the shooting range and blasted ten clay pigeons away.
If she’d only stood firm that day long ago, it wouldn’t have happened. Josh wouldn’t have become dependent upon Alfred, Alfred wouldn’t have been flattered, they needn’t have gone away -
How, after everything Alfred had said about robots, could he stand to let Josh touch him? The third floor was a no-go area: they were so noisy and took so long, it was embarrassing. You couldn’t take tea below due to jangling chandeliers.
She tossed down her gun and swung into the stables. Comforting scents of her childhood: fresh hay, sweating hides, leather and brass. She clicked with her tongue and received an answer from the last stall: Bess. She climbed onto the pen.
“Hello, darling.” As a child she’d shared every secret and disappointment with the sweet natured bay. “You’re the only one who’s got time for me nowadays.” She paused. “Grizzly? You’ve got to be joking. He’s too besotted to look further than his own arsehole. Or Josh’s.”
She shuddered. No one over fifty should have sex, or, if they did, they should sign a disclaimer promising to be discreet. Josh’s cries made that impossible.
“Is somebody jealous?” A wiry figure dangled from the loft. She found herself glaring at Bill Kitzinger, the groom.
“You think I want to have bum sex with my uncle? That’s sick!”
“Don’t be so literal, doll.”
Alfred thought conventional people were untrustworthy. Bearing this in mind, most of his staff had pasts. Certainly most gentlemen would take one look at Bill and dunk him in the moat. He’d fought for the resistance in some war, Alfred hiding him in the tunnels when he went on the run. He vanished one night with a priceless tea set, missing presumed dead.
Shortly after her fifth birthday, the country had been hit by the worst winter in years. Though it had its advantages. She could stay at Chimera, which she loved with a precocious passion. Above all, Chimera meant Alfred. She never called him “Uncle”- too stodgy. First it was Alf - Alf, then, when she went to the zoo and saw a bear going around with its cub on its back, it became Grizzly.
Alfred didn’t believe in bedtimes but her yawns were too big to ignore. “Come on, monkey. Bed.”
He read to her every night, doing all the voices and changing the plot where he saw fit.
“The troll, who was only acting according to her dietary requirements, ripped the third billy goat in half and stuck its head on a pole as a warning. The rest she turned into a fabulous stew. She toured the world as a famous chef, leaving goats and their perils far behind. The End.”
“Could Nanny make goat stew?”
“Maybe. We’ll ask her. Night, Bash.” He kissed her and tucked her in.
A terrible clanging at the door. “Alf,” Uncle Ken called, “are you going to get that?”
“Get it yourself.”
“I’m working. What are
you
doing?”
Alfred rose, Gwyn following. Halfway down the stairs he picked up a tomahawk. He drew back the bolts and squinted into the night.
“By thunder!”
It had been snowing the past three days. The grounds were snug beneath a thick white counterpane. At first Gwyn couldn’t see anything unusual. Then she noticed the scarlet footprints leading to the doorstep -
“Toff?” a voice croaked.
The man slumped against the doorframe was so mutilated, he was scarcely recognisable as human. One ear hung by a thread, a hand had been hammered out of shape.
“Bill?”
The man groped forward as though he was playing blind woman’s buff, then collapsed into his arms. A geyser of blood splashed Alfred’s dressing gown.
“Get Nanny. Now!”
Nanny came down and switched on the lights. She gasped. The battered hand lay like a monstrous spider; blood piped like soup. For the first time Gwyn noticed his left eye socket was empty.
“Lulu Sholto. As I live and breathe,” the man rasped.
“You won’t do either if I’ve anythin’ to say about it,” she snapped.
“You two.” Alfred sighed like an adult forced to mediate between bickering kids. “Can you put your differences aside this once?”
The man grimaced. Nanny folded her arms and stuck her nose in the air.
“Please?”
“I don’t know what you expect me to do. He should go to hospital -”
“Are you mad?” the men exclaimed.
She ran for her sewing basket, a bucket and sponge. “This might hurt.”
She wasn’t joking. The man lay on the kitchen table, out of his mind with pain. Gwyn watched as she sewed on his ear, bound up his throat, slapped the bone into place. Alfred held his good hand and reminded him of old campaigns.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Bill.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“What happened to the tea set?”
“Lost it in a poker game.”
Uncle Ken wandered in, looking for a midnight snack. “Are we doing autopsies in the kitchen now?”
“Bill Kitzinger,” Alfred said, as though that explained everything.
“How long will you be?”
“As long as it takes.”
They worked till morning. Gwyn didn’t remember falling asleep but woke to find herself wrapped in a blanket, Alfred dozing in the chair opposite. She shook him awake. “Where’s Mr Kitzinger?”
“The guest room. He’ll be fine.”
Within a week he was appointed groom. He’d lived at Chimera ever since.
Now Bill pulled two windfalls from a barrel and chucked Gwyn one. He bit his and made a face. “Bit sour.”
“Not the only thing,” she said, feeding hers to Bess. “My life, for one.”
“What’s steamin’ you up? Some village floozy given you the old heave ho?”
“You know very well. Being pariahs.”
Bill seemed puzzled. “How’d you figure that out?”
“Have you been living under a rock?”
“Here. That’s near enough.”
“Nobody wants to have anything to do with us. All because Alfred can’t control his urges. How could he be so selfish?”
“Oh - ho!” He rubbed his hands. “This is interestin’.”
“What are you smirking at?”
“Parental issues. You want to live here forever, Toff’s right hand -”
“I do
not
!”
“I can prove it. What’s your objection to Josh?”
“Uh, he’s a bot and it’s disgusting?”
“Did that bother you before?”
“It was good for something to take Alfred out of himself -”
“Not if it took him away from you.”
“That’s not true. I’ve no problem with him dating. But
Josh
.”
“Toff must see somethin’ in him.”
“A cute bod? An endless capacity for sex? He’s like those old trollops who chase boys half their age.”
Bill picked his teeth. “Goin’ by past form, he’s not that bad.”
“Have you got dung in your eyes? He was with the most brilliant man this century and now he’s boffing a little blond nothing?”
The toothpick snapped on his tongue. “You’re holdin’
Ken Summerskill
up as an example of a good relationship?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s time you had a talk with Toff.”
It must be one of Bill’s wind ups. Once he’d sent her down the corner shop for a left-handed screwdriver. Another time he persuaded her he could walk on water, only to reveal planks strapped to his feet. Even in a benevolent mood he liked to take out his glass eye and roll it around.
Alfred had loved Uncle Ken. Yes, he was prickly and sarcastic, but scientists were borderline cases. She didn’t know when she had realised the official story was a cover, that Alfred and Ken, not her mother and Ken, were a couple. It seeped into her consciousness so by the time she was ten, seeing them kiss or hold hands when they thought no one was watching wasn’t unusual. Bill had to be lying.
She stopped dead in the drive. A green vix was tethered outside, a familiar figure slouching on the bonnet.
“Gwyneth!”
She forced herself to be civil as she greeted her brother. “Marcus. Long time no see.”
She’d always found it incredible they were related. There was no similarity between her features and his thinning hair, chilly eyes, weak chin. He was inches shorter and daintier. “The kids are the wrong way round,” their father used to say, as though it was her fault.
“I’ve asked -”
“Wendy hasn’t made me feel welcome. You won’t come here.”
“Is it any wonder?” His nostrils flared. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. Josh was peeking between the curtains at a third floor window, clearly naked.
“I -”
“When I visit my ancestral home, I don’t expect to see my uncle rimming a robot in the window. The earls of Langton must be turning in their graves.”
“What happens between consenting adults -”
“Why are you defending him? I’m
glad
Mum’s dead. At least she never lived to see this.”
“They’re not hurting anyone.”
“What about the family? The kids are being bullied, Wendy’s funding’s been withdrawn. Doesn’t it bother you you’re living with a sex offender?”
She’d heard worse. Widget fucker, bolt licker. Something about ‘sex offender’ revolted her. “Take that back.”
“Touched a nerve?”
They might have been kids again, the same certainty the adults would take his side. All except Alfred. She remembered his fury when Marcus pushed her out of a tree - “Wait till I catch you, you grotty little bastard.” He’d given him six of the best, the only time he’d hit either of them.
“I always wondered about you two. Maybe that’s why you’re queer -”
Twenty six years’ rage burst out in a punch. “Alfred is not a Deviant.” She punctuated each word with a kick. “If anyone’s twisted, it’s you. You’re scum.”
A sickening crunch. He fell to his knees, limp, unmoving. Gwyn scanned the downstairs windows. “Nanny?”
The cottage loaf figure was pegging out laundry. She tried again. “Nanny!”
Gwyn wasn’t sure if Nanny saw the body on the floor or heard the desperation in her voice, but she hurried over. “Holy fuck cakes!” She dragged him along the gravel. “There’s a cess pit not far.”
“We don’t know if he’s dead.”
She put her ear to his chest. “Better luck next time. Let’s get him somewhere comfy for when he comes round.”
“But - Grizzly-”
“I’ll let him know. This is a showdown I’m not goin’ to miss.”
***
Nanny didn’t have time for book learning but she knew people. She had powerful likes and dislikes and her opinion never changed. The body she was lugging onto the couch belonged firmly in the ‘dislike’ camp. As a boy he’d been sly and tale bearing; he’d grown into a petty, unlovable adult, “When I own Chimera” his favourite topic.
He wasn’t aware of the document in the family vault. “If that fucker inherits my house, I’ll haunt it,” Alfred had said as it was drawn up.
She dripped water on Marcus’s head. “Everythin’ alright?”
“Hello, Nanny.” He saw Gwyn and went to hit her.
Nanny snatched his wrist. “You’re too big to fight like ragamuffins.”
“Yes, Nanny,” they muttered. She felt his head. The promise of a lump but otherwise minimal damage.
“Hello, all!” Alfred breezed into the room, dressing gown billowing open. He took a seat and crossed his legs, shirtless and not caring a bit. “Afternoon, Marky. Nice of you to stop by.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. You could tell he’d had an explosive orgasm moments before, he
glowed
. “Social call?”
“Is it social when you’ve come on an unpleasant errand?”
“Frequently. But I’ve never been good at schmoozing.” Alfred scratched his neck, peppered with teeth marks.
The sight gave Marcus ammunition. “I want you to see Lady Vandemar. She can help you.”
“Oh? How?” He nodded to Nanny. “Please may we have some whisky, Lulu?”
She loaded three glasses, passing one to Gwyn. “Marky?”
“You know I don’t.” To Alfred, “She has experience with diseases of the mind.”
“Has she? Fascinating.”
“Oh, for Thea’s sake!” Marcus snapped. “Stop play acting.
And
you’re meant to have stopped drinking.”
“This is my first drink of the day. Hardly a raging alcoholic.”
“Lady Vandemar is Wendy’s aunt,” Marcus went on. “I recommend you see her. It’ll be better for you in the long run.”
“Are you threatening me?”