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(26/26) half-hard against the damp fabric, the new seams on his arms and legs catching the light while the rest of the paddock kept moving around him.

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(25/26) didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The water kept moving around his locked legs. Sunlight slid over the wet plastic of his chest and the blank white of his eyes. Somewhere nearby a radio crackled. Footsteps started up again on the asphalt. He stayed exactly where he was, mouth parted, cock still

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(24/26) catching on the mess still streaked across Arthur’s stomach. Then he leaned in, thumb pressing at the corner of that open mouth, and spoke against the shell of Arthur’s ear. “Keep the pose. They’ll come looking for you in a minute. Let them see exactly what S3LCO made you into.” Arthur

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(23/26) eyes stayed white. His mouth stayed open. The joints clicked once more and held. The man pulled out slow. Cum followed, sliding down the smooth curve of Arthur’s ass into the water. He reached down, dragged the shiny blue shorts back up until they sat low on the hips again, the waistband

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(22/26) still-hard length when the man stayed seated. His own cock jerked once, hard, and he came too, untouched, thick ropes striping the glossy plastic of his stomach and the black waistband of the shorts still twisted around his thighs. The orgasm rolled through him in tight, locked pulses. His

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(21/26) loosely over the chest, every seam and hinge on display while he was fucked open in the bright blue water. The man came with a low curse, hips stuttering, cock buried deep as he spilled inside. Arthur felt the heat of it, the way it filled him and then started to leak back out around the

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(20/26) now,” the man said, voice rough. He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in, grinding deep. Arthur’s hole clenched around him in a tight, mechanical rhythm that didn’t stop even when the thrusts turned short and mean. The mannequin body held the position, legs spread, arms crossed

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(19/26) involuntary noises Arthur kept making every time he was filled. His head stayed tipped. Drool started to slip from the corner of his open mouth and run down the glossy line of his jaw. His cock pulsed against his own stomach, precum mixing with the pool water. “Fuck, you take it perfect

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(18/26) the rim beside Arthur’s head, the other gripping the hinge of his hip hard enough that the plastic skin dented under the fingers. He fucked him harder. The sound of it was loud in the narrow space between the trucks: water, skin on plastic, the low grunts from the man above, and the small,

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(17/26) Arthur’s locked body just enough for the joints to click, elbows and knees shifting on their new hinges and then settling again. His own cock bounced against his stomach with the motion, still hard, still leaking, untouched now while he was used. The man leaned over him, one hand braced on

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(16/26) broken sound came out of it when the man bottomed out, hips flush against the rigid curve of Arthur’s ass. The cock inside him was thick, hot, and moving, dragging in and out in long, wet strokes that made the water around them slap against the sides of the pool. Every thrust rocked

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(15/26) entrance stayed tight but gave, the plastic-smooth skin of Arthur’s ass and thighs not bruising or softening, just accepting the stretch while the rest of him stayed locked in the same relaxed pose he’d started in. Arthur’s blank white eyes stayed fixed upward. His mouth stayed open. A low

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(14/26) heavy and flushed as he stepped into the water between Arthur’s spread, hinged legs. The blue plastic of the pool flexed under them both. He lined up and pushed in without much warning, the head of his cock forcing past the tight ring of Arthur’s hole. The mannequin body took it. The

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(13/26) dragged them farther down his hips until they were bunched at the top of his thighs. The glossy material clung, but the body underneath didn’t shift to help or fight it. A knee settled on the rim of the pool. Then weight. The man above him was already stripped from the waist down, cock

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(12/26) the tongue that no longer curled around them. Arthur’s jaw stayed open. The fingers pressed deeper, testing, then pulled free with a wet sound and traced down the center of his chest, between the locked pectorals, over the hard stomach, and lower. They hooked under the shorts again and

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(11/26) couldn’t. The new joints held him open and still while the hand worked him water lapping at his sides with every stroke. “Stay just like that,” a low voice said, close to his ear. “You look better this way.” The hand left his cock and two fingers pushed into his mouth instead, sliding over

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(10/26) the only part of him that still looked properly human. It stood against the glossy blue fabric and the plastic sheen of his lower belly, twitching once when the cool air hit it. The hand wrapped around it and stroked, slow, thumb dragging over the head. Arthur’s hips didn’t move. They

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(9/26) soak in. Footsteps stopped beside the pool. A hand settled on the rigid plane of his stomach, palm flat, fingers spread. It slid down until the tips caught the top of the waistband and tugged. The shorts peeled down just enough to free him. Arthur’s cock was already hard, thick and flushed

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(8/26) He could still feel the rim against his neck. He just couldn’t move off it. His eyes rolled up, whites taking over until the color was gone and only a smooth, empty white showed. The mouth stayed parted. Water beaded on the new surface of his chest and ran in slow, perfect lines that didn’t

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(7/26) with a quiet plastic click. His calves locked straight. The shorts stayed wet and shiny against him, the black S3LCO waistband sitting low, but the body inside them was no longer giving under the fabric. Arthur’s head stayed tipped back the way it had been when he first sank into the pool.

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(6/26) but no longer soft. Nipples stayed, dark and raised, but they didn’t respond when the air hit them. His stomach stayed flat and tight while the definition turned hard and permanent, every line of his abs cast in place. Under the water the same thing happened to his thighs. The knees hinged

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(5/26) didn’t flex anymore; it held. “Fuck,” he said, and the word came out wrong. His tongue felt thicker. His mouth stayed open a little longer than it should have. The change crawled. Across his collarbones the skin lost its pores and took on that even mannequin sheen, still warm from the water

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(4/26) taut and reflective like wet latex that had been polished until it was almost glass. Arthur tried to pull his hand off his chest. The fingers stayed where they were, spread and perfect, the wrist now clicking once when he forced it. A second seam opened at the shoulder. The muscle underneath

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(3/26) low hum that started under the water until the first seam split open along the outside of his elbow. It was thin at first, a clean black line that didn’t bleed. Then the joint locked. His arm stopped bending where it wanted to and started moving on a hinge instead, the skin over it going

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(2/26) compression shorts the team had been pushing all weekend, water climbing his ribs as he leaned back against the rim, one wrist stacked over the other, head tipped so the sun hit his throat. His skin was already wet, already shining. He looked loose. Relaxed. Almost lazy. He didn’t notice the

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axel@bertech @axelbertech.bsky.social · 14/10/2026

(1/26) Arthur Leclerc had only meant to cool off. The paddock was still thick with heat and the sharp smell of hot brakes, and someone from hospitality had dragged a bright blue inflatable pool into the narrow gap between the trucks. He dropped into it in nothing but the glossy blue S3LCO

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tfw the top really wants to bottom and he is very obvious about it

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⚡Bullstorm⚡ @bullstorm.bsky.social · 14/10/2026

To think the original "Casshern" inspired MegaMan... 'Sins' is SO GOOD and heartbreaking... I wish "revisits" of classics were made with this much love, like "Pluto" and "Devilman Crybaby"...

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(23/23) be walked toward the showers, barefoot and still half-hard in the teal shorts, one hand never quite letting go.

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(22/23) Elias’s and laced their fingers together against the whiteboard. “You staying?” “Yeah,” Elias said. He kissed him again, softer. “I’m staying.” Macklin’s mouth curved, small and real. The robot stayed perfectly still while Elias cleaned them both up, then let himself

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(21/23) Macklin’s raised arm finally dropped. He turned his head just enough that their mouths could meet again, slower this time. The teal pulse under his skin had settled into a low, even glow. “Systems nominal,” he murmured against Elias’s mouth. His free hand found

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(20/23) buried to the hilt, mouth against the back of Macklin’s neck while the android’s systems cycled hard around him, clenching and releasing in the exact pattern the maintenance routine demanded. After, Elias stayed inside him a moment longer, both of them breathing.

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(19/23) Macklin’s hip, the other reaching around to stroke him in time. Macklin came first, a full-body shudder that made the lattice light up hard under his skin, spilling over Elias’s fingers and the floor while a broken sound tore out of him. Elias followed a minute later,

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(18/23) dropping,” Macklin managed, voice rough. Every thrust rocked him forward; the plating along his spine flexed under the skin with a faint teal flicker. “Keep—keep going. Don’t stop the cycle.” Elias didn’t. He fucked him deep and steady, one hand locked around

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(17/23) human. When Elias finally pushed inside, Macklin’s head dropped, forehead against the board, one arm still awkwardly raised near his shoulder like the original pose hadn’t fully released. The other hand flattened hard against the whiteboard to brace. “Fuck—load’s

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(16/23) marker lines smearing under his fingers. The teal shorts stayed halfway down his thighs. Elias worked him open with two fingers first, then three, the android’s body accepting it with a low, grinding roll of his hips and a short, glitched exhale that wasn’t entirely

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(15/23) him. Elias stroked him slow while Macklin’s free hand stayed braced against his own chest, the other now fisted in the back of Elias’s shirt. They didn’t make it to the bench. Elias turned him, pushed him forward until Macklin’s palms hit the whiteboard, the red

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(14/23) pressure the last calibration had locked in, but the low sound he made in his throat was messier than the code. Elias worked the waistband down just enough to get his hand inside. Macklin was already hard, the synthetic skin there as hot and responsive as the rest of

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(13/23) deliberate, testing the contact. “Elias,” he said, quieter. The green eyes had gone half-lidded. “Run the full cycle.” Elias kissed him first, because the protocols always started that way. Macklin opened for it immediately, tongue sliding against his with the exact

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(12/23) sweat the system produced after long shifts. Elias let himself be pulled in until their bodies were nearly flush. Macklin’s other arm stayed half-raised, fingers curled near his own collarbone like he was still mid-adjustment, even as his hips rolled forward once,

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(11/23) slid one hand higher, thumb brushing the edge of the waistband. “That’s why you’re still here.” Macklin’s free hand finally moved. It settled on Elias’s wrist, not gripping hard, just guiding. The android’s skin was warm and slightly slick from the residual coolant

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(10/23) hit in the second?” “Shoulder took most of it,” Macklin answered. His voice had dropped half a register, the way it always did once the combat mode bled out and the maintenance protocols started climbing. “Systems compensated. Still reading high load.” “I know.” Elias

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(9/23) lifted near his chest like the gesture hadn’t finished, the other hanging loose at his side. Waiting. Elias ran his palms up the outside of Macklin’s thighs, feeling the heat coming off the synthetic skin. The lattice under it hummed, low and steady. “How bad was the

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(8/23) across one thigh, the black waistband sitting low. Macklin stepped out of the pads and the skates in one fluid motion, barefoot on the rubber floor now, calves and thighs flexing as the last of the cold gear left him. He stayed exactly where he was, one hand still

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(7/23) it always did once the organic layer yielded to the upgraded frame. The hockey pants were next. Elias worked the laces and the belt, then pushed the heavy gear down Macklin’s hips. The teal compression shorts underneath were already on, the shark logo stretched tight

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(6/23) collarbones and under his arms lit with a faint teal pulse. Synthetic skin shifted, tightening over dense muscle as the performance lattice came fully online. The plating along his ribs and shoulders caught the overhead lights, glossy and wet-looking, exactly the way

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(5/23) protector came next. Under it the long-sleeve base layer was already damp. Elias peeled it upward; Macklin raised his arms without being asked, letting the fabric drag over his head and drop. The second the cool air hit his torso, the hidden seams along his

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(4/23) fingers at his collar flexed once, testing the release. “Protocol.” Elias stepped in close. He didn’t rush. He started at the shoulder pads, unclipping the straps with practiced hands while Macklin stayed perfectly still, weight balanced, breathing even. The chest