Corey lounged on the rug for a few more minutes after Mort's stormy exit to the bathroom, his body still humming from the afterglow of his own phase, He watched Beckett with that persistent, horny gleam in his eyes, the long white hair falling messily over one shoulder as he propped himself up on an elbow. The apartment felt heavier now, the purple LEDs casting elongated shadows across the black velvet furniture and the onyx monolith where eight swabs sat in their silver dish like conquered trophies. The hypno video looped endlessly on the giant flat-screen, its swirling patterns a constant undercurrent that made everyone's eyes glaze a little if they stared too long. Kota lay slumped on the sectional, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and ragged, body slick with sweat and every muscle screaming from the marathon of phases.
Corey's gaze flicked back to Beckett, who stood naked and impassive by the monolith, hands clasped in front of him as he methodically arranged the final swab. The facilitator's slim, pale frame looked almost ethereal under the violet glow, that tiny nub between his legs soft and unassuming, his platinum and black hair still perfectly in place despite the chaos of the night.
Corey pushed himself up to a sitting position, knees drawn in, and flashed his signature grin.
"Hey, robot boy,"
he called, voice low and teasing.
"You and me—let's go get those sloppy ninths and tenths from our beast over there. I'll even let you go first. What do you say? Double team him in the shower? Sounds fun, right?"
Beckett didn't even turn his head at first. He finished placing the swab, then pivoted slowly, expression as blank as ever.
"I myself do not need to be penetrated. The facilitator's role is observational and archival. Additional congress would disrupt the concluded nodal alignment."
Corey's grin faltered for half a second, but then it widened, eyes sparkling with renewed challenge. He stood up fluidly, baggy gray jeans still slung low on his hips, the fabric rumpled from earlier.
"Oh, come on. You're telling me you don't want a piece? Look at him—our big man's all worn out, but I bet we could wake him up proper."
He sauntered closer, close enough to reach out and trail a finger down Beckett's bare arm, then lower, dipping toward the cleft of his ass. "Let me show you what I did with Toby earlier. Just a little finger play get you nice and ready for some fun."
Beckett's hand moved faster than Corey expected slapping the wandering fingers away with a sharp, precise smack that echoed off the brick walls.
"Negative. Physical initiation outside parameters is refused. Cease."
Corey yanked his hand back, rubbing the stinging spot, but instead of backing off, his cheeks flushed deeper, that horny enthusiasm kicking into overdrive.
"Ouch. Feisty. I like it when you play hard to get."
He leaned in closer, lips brushing Beckett's ear.
"Makes me want you more, you know? That cold stare? Turns me on like nothing else."
Beckett stepped back without a flicker of reaction, turning to face the group scattered around the room. "Inquiry irrelevant. Focus on post-ritual logistics."
Corey pouted dramatically, but his eyes stayed locked on Beckett's naked form, tracing the smooth lines of his hips and thighs. "Fine, fine. But hey how many rooms you got here anyway? Four? Five? This place is huge."
"Four bedrooms are operational," Beckett replied flatly. "Primary master, secondary guest, tertiary study conversion, quaternary auxiliary."
Corey's pout turned into a pleading grin. He dropped to one knee theatrically, hands clasped in mock prayer. "Please, robot daddy let us stay the night. Or the month. Year. Decade, honestly. We're broke as hell back in our shoebox pizza smells and no hot water half the time. Just let us crash as long as possible. I'll be good, I promise. Or bad, if that's what you prefer."
Beckett's head tilted slightly, processing. "Negative. Extended habitation disrupts domicile harmonics. Temporary lodging is not authorized."
Corey didn't give up. He stood, sidling closer again, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "I'll make it worth your while… daddy."
He trailed a finger down Beckett's chest this time, circling a nipple lightly. "Anything you want. I'm versatile, remember? Top, bottom, whatever gets those circuits firing."
Beckett didn't flinch. "Refused. Incentive irrelevant."
"DAMN IT!" Corey threw his hands up, spinning on his heel with exaggerated frustration. "That usually worked for my old landlord. Old bastard loved the daddy treatment."
From the bean bag where he'd returned after his shower, Mort snorted loudly. "Slut."
Corey turned back with a wink, taking the insult like a badge of honor. "Thanks, Morty. Coming from you? High praise."
Beckett held up a hand, cutting through the banter. "Concession granted. Gideon and I share a silent friendship. His poetic recitations during Phase 4 enhanced the metaphysical resonance. The band may utilize the four rooms for the night. I depart for the Hawthorne mansion immediately, ensuring sufficient space."
Corey's eyes lit up like fireworks. "Yes! You're a legend, robot boy." He turned to Gideon, who stood motionless by the monolith, and teased with a grin. "Look at you two the robots fell in love. Silent friendship? That's code for midnight chakra alignments, right? Bet you recite poetry to each other while aligning those "energies"."
Gideon inclined his head once, red eyeshadow catching the light. "Verse binds what silence conceals."
Corey laughed, clapping his hands. "See? Poetry! You two are adorable."
Kota barely registered any of it. He was still half-dead on the sectional, body a limp wreck of sweat and soreness, breaths shallow and uneven. The five-hour clock ticked in his head four preferably but right now even blinking felt like effort. Toby, curled against Corey's side on the rug, looked up shyly. "Can I… sleep with you tonight, Mort?"
Corey's head snapped around, mock-offended. "What? Why not me, Tobs? We're bandmates—besties!"
Toby flushed pink, freckles standing out against his cheeks. "Last time that happened… you fingered me for six hours straight. I couldn't walk the next day."
Corey grinned unapologetically. "What? You loved it."
Beckett interjected flatly. "That won't be necessary. My departure to the Hawthorne mansion ensures adequate rooms for the four band members."
Charlie, who had been quietly gathering his clothes near the kitchen island, piped up with his usual rapid-fire yap. "Oh my god I have to go home anyway because I have work super early tomorrow like literally at six a.m. which is insane but I can't call out again or my boss will fire me and I need this job even though the hours suck and the customers are weird sometimes but the tips are okay on busy nights and I'm a host so I don't have to deal with the really crazy stuff like the waiters do but still it's exhausting standing there smiling all day and directing people to tables and answering questions about the menu which changes every week and I always forget the specials but anyway I had fun tonight even if I talked too much which I know I did but thanks for letting me be part of it and I hope the chakras aligned properly and by the way my job is at the Slurps and Spaghetti restaurant in east side—"
Corey interrupted with a laugh. "Hold up—you work at Slurps and Spaghetti? Isn't that the restaurant with the shitty food but if you tip well the waiters give you a blowjob under the table?"
Charlie nodded enthusiastically, not missing a beat.
"Yes exactly it's that one and the food isn't that bad if you order the pasta special but yeah the tips thing is real though I'm a host not a waiter so I've never given a customer a blowjob like literally never because that's not my job I just seat people and take reservations and sometimes answer the phone but the waiters do it all the time especially on slow nights when they need extra cash and I've seen it happen a few times like this one guy last week tipped fifty bucks and got head right there in the booth but discreetly under the tablecloth and no one complained because the manager turns a blind eye as long as the tables turn over fast and—"
The yap continued as Charlie finally pulled on his shirt and pants, voice never slowing even as he tied his shoes. Beckett waited patiently by the door, holding out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Charlie took it mid-sentence "oh my god thank you so much this will help with rent because my roommate is always late and—" then hugged Beckett awkwardly and headed out, still talking to himself as the door clicked shut.
Carter stood up next, stretching with a glittery yawn. "I gotta bounce too—shift from one a.m. to six a.m. tomorrow."
Mort looked up from his phone. "Why so early? That's graveyard hours."
Carter flipped his white-streaked hair. "Nighttime rave, babe. I bartend at Eclipse—downtown spot, glow sticks, bass drops, sweaty bodies grinding till dawn. Pays double on weekends, and the tips? Insane when the crowd's rolling."
He blew a kiss to the room—"Byeee lovelies, this was iconic!"—then gathered his cargo pants and crop top, pulling them on with quick efficiency. Beckett handed him the hundred at the door. Carter pocketed it, then grabbed Beckett's face with both hands and planted a big, sloppy kiss right on his lips. "Thanks for the vibes, robot daddy." He walked off with a sway in his hips, door swinging shut behind him.
Yuki, who had been lounging near Kin on the far end of the sectional, stood up with a stretch. "We're out too." He grabbed Kin's arm, dragging the paranoid tall femboy toward the door. Kin twitched the whole way, muttering about "post-breach surveillance spikes." Yuki waved casually over his shoulder—not at the room, but directly at Kota's spent cock. "Bye, beast. You were fun." He turned to Beckett at the threshold. "Keep the money—we got what we came for."
The door clicked shut, leaving the apartment quieter. Corey clapped his hands together. "Alright, band sleepover! Who's bunking with who?"
Kota stirred then—barely. His eyes cracked open, vision blurry from exhaustion. He fumbled for his phone on the coffee table, squinting at the screen. 9:22. Shit. Khalil would be home by ten. He sat up slowly, every joint protesting, and started gathering his clothes—shirt rumpled on the floor, jeans kicked under the ottoman.
Corey noticed and waved flirtily from the rug. "Byeee daddy."
Kota didn't respond. He just dressed as fast as his drained body allowed and slipped out, the door clicking softly behind him. The hallway felt cold after the ritual heat, but relief washed over him. Home. Bed. Normal. For now.