Haha, I used to like the series too. Filling because nostalgia. Hope you like it OP!
*
Ben was beginning to hate the pink, anime-inspired mascot for this ridiculous website.
"Mr. Ren!" the high-pitched creature cooed excitedly. "Please enter the most desirable qualities for your ideal boyfriend below!"
He groaned as the screen refreshed. Hearing it out loud only made Ben all the more relieved that his roommate had moved out that morning, leaving the apartment to himself. This is what his life had come down to: signing up for sketchy pop-up window dating websites half drunk in the middle of the night.
"My ideal boyfriend..." He whispered, tapping lightly against the keyboard. He'd type in 'my stupid ex-boyfriend's brain in Poe Dameron's body with Rey's personality' if the website could even understand what he meant. With a sigh, the brunette typed: charming, dependable, intelligent, athletic, good-looking, sensitive... Ben hesitated before clicking next. He stared at the small paragraph box for a full minute, almost unblinking even as the harsh light of the laptop screen burned brightly against his sleep-deprived eyes. A quick flick of his wrist brought the clicker away from the button and back into the typing field. Silently, the brunette wrote in one last quality before quickly clicking to the next page.
Completely devoted.
"Good choices, Mr. Ren!" the mascot chirped. "You are all done! Your ideal boyfriend will be with you shortly!"
The corner of Ren's mouth went slack. "What? Where are my matches?" he muttered into the darkness.
The man closed his laptop roughly with a muffled scream. He didn't expect much from clicking on an obnoxiously flashing advertisement at three in the morning anyways.
Ben yawned before lazily shuffling to his room and then into his bed. It's not like he put any of his credit card info into the site. Hell, he didn't even use his real name.
* * *
"I didn't order this," Ben explained for the tenth time.
"Sir, please, I have other deliveries. If this isn't yours, you need to take it to the post office yourself. I just deliver it," The delivery man grunted holding out an electronic pad, awaiting his signature. After a moment of consideration, Ben sighed and yielded.
He pulled the giant, rectangular crate (heavy) covered in stamps and shipping material to the center of his living room. Ben hesitated to open the package, unsure if the postal worker would come back and realize his mistake. The young man paused when he saw the shipping slip posted on the side of the crate:
Mr. Kylo Ren 2156 Alderaanian Way Corusant, Naboo
Kylo Ren was definitely the fake name that he'd used on that site last night. Ben ran a hand through his hair, tussling as he got to the top. He doesn't remember putting his address in but then again he was sobering up from a bender, so he was pretty out of it.
Ben figures should at least figure out what exactly it was he that he signed up.
The brunette grabbed one of the many irrelevant tools his father had given him over the years -- hammers, crowbars, a hoe -- and tried to pry open the box. Almost as soon as the first corner of the box gave into Ben's attacks, packing material spilled onto the floor of his apartment.
The mess, which Ben would agonizingly have to clean up later, occupied his attentions. He leaned down in an attempt to control the sprawling multicolored spillage until a toe caught his attention.
A brown, masculine toe. Toes.
Ben's eyes slowly followed the string of body parts upwards. Up a toned leg, past a firm thigh and beyond a well-built chest and towards an attractive face.
"Oh shit," Ben spluttered, kicking himself away from the naked man encased by packing peanuts and securely strapped to the sides of the crate. This is definitely illegal. Ben's breath is heavy, adrenaline pumping through him. He'd only just woken up, he wasn't ready for this. "What the actual fuck?"
Ben's eyes darted all over his apartment, a fear that someone must know. His eyes landed on a small red and black booklet amidst the packing peanuts at the box-person's feet. Cautiously, the brunette snapped the manual and retreated back to his position.
The mascot from the website was there. It was perched on top of an ominous logo that looked both like a biohazard symbol and a flower at once. Under any other circumstance Ben would never open it, but upon considering that he may be an accessory to a kidnapping, he relented. The first page featured in rather large block text, the name of the company: First Order Cybernetics LLC.
Dear Mr. Ren,
We appreciate the time you took to fill out our survey. We have found, based on your answers, that you would be an ideal candidate for testing the first model in our new series of mechanical companions. The FN series has all of the desires you specified on your survey. We assure you he is the ideal man for you.
That is to say, we sincerely hope he is to your liking. If there are any systems malfunctions or program discrepancies, please do not hesitate to contact us at ---
Ben stopped reading and fumbled to take his phone out of his pocket, dialing the number at an incredible speed. "Pick up, pick up," he whispered before hearing the distinct click of the phone being answered. "Yes, hello, your company delivered a man to my apartment. I didn't order this!"
There was shuffling on the other end of the line. "You must be Mr. Ren," the feminine voice responded. "It's a pleasure to speak with you. Did FN-2187 arrive unimpaired? Are you having trouble activating him?"
Ben paused a moment, the soothing tone of the woman calming his nerves. "Ma'am, this is a mistake. If I ordered this, fine but I don't want it. There is a no return address --"
"Mr. Ren," she cut him off. "If there is any defect in our product, we will correct it."
"The only defect is that there is a naked, very young man in my living room!" He shouted, rising up to pace in front of his package.
"We're sorry, sir," the woman replied. Ben sighed, about to reassure her that no, it's okay before she spoke again. "Your survey indicated you preferred males. Is this not correct?"
"What?" Ben questioned, confused at the turn the conversation seemed to be taking. "Yes, I like boys. Fuck, I mean I like men. Not boys, and this..." Ben paused to find the right words, "This person you sent me is most definitely not legal," He groaned inwardly at his statement. First and foremost: "Sending people through the mail is most definitely not legal."
"Sir," her tone was now clipped, as if she were the one being inconvenienced. "FN-2187 is 23 years in the making. If it eases your mind, he has parts older than you, Mr. Ren. Furthermore, there are no laws that our corporation knows of that prohibits the postal service from delivering our product to your home. No one would get up in arms about sending a computer in the mail."
"Computer?"
"Yes," The irritation in her voice was palpable. "Did you read the manual? FN-2187 is the beta of a revolutionary line of companion droids. He's designed to be catered to your specifications -- the perfect boyfriend. Handsome, intelligent, talented and absolutely devoted to you and only you, Mr. Ren. We need test data on how he interacts with his master --"
"Please don't use that word," Ben interrupted, quiet and absent-minded. He's staring at the man --FN-2187 -- with a mouth that's suddenly too dry in a room that's suddenly too hot. Absolutely devoted to you and only you, Mr. Ren.
"We need data on how he interacts with you," she amended. "For the others we plan to produce. We cannot start mass production without data on the fundamental purpose on our machine. We ask that you interact with FN-2187 fully. Dates, arguments, shows of affection, copulation..."
"What?"
There was a frown on the other line. "Copulation. It means to have sex."
"I know what it means," Ben replied with a comparative frown, "But he's a robot..."
"He's an android. And fully capable and programmed to pleasure both male and female lovers, if you prefer that," the woman paused for a moment. "FN-2187 will adapt and grow with your relationship. He will modify his behavior to suit your desires. Data collection will occur through his system so you are not expected to do anything tedious, Mr. Ren. It was all stated in the terms of service you agreed to on our website. Now, once again, if anything should go wrong, please contact us. Goodbye."
Click.
Ben stared at his phone. The debate raged in his mind whether to call back. Had he agreed to their terms of service? He must have agreed to something because he's still stuck with FN-2187. Ben retrieved the manual from where he had set it down.
To activate, please firmly press your lips to the FN series'. The machine is programmed to recognize the first person to do this as it's master.
There was no way Ben was kissing him. It. Him. The brunette grabbed various items and pressed them to the android's lips, waiting for a response. Fuck. Ben sighed, squaring himself in front of the crate. He undid the droid's straps, bracing himself for the man to fall over. To Ben's surprise, the android stood rigidly in place.
"All right, I can do this," Ben took a shaky breath. He leaned forward, only hesitating for a moment before he kissed his new boyfriend.
The boy opened his eyes and smiled, excited. The attention to detail must have been intense, even from close up, nothing seemed to give away the fact that he was anything less than human. The boy snaked his arms around Ben's neck slowly as gently before whispering against his chest. "Master Ren, I have been waiting all my life to meet you."
Ben's heart is pounding in his ears. The boy was so earnest that the brunette felt dirty all of a sudden.
The boy looked apologetic as he curled in on himself a bit. "Have I done something to perturb you, Master Ren?"
"No," Ben breathed out shakily. The boy's face is too close, his body hard body inhumanly warm. "Do you have a name?"
"My designation is FN-2187," he replied. He looked up coyly at the human. "Although you may call me anything you would like, Master Ren."
"Finn," Ben blurted quickly, not thinking. FN, Finn. He sure as hell wasn't going to call him a string of numbers. "Is Finn okay?"
"Finn," he smiled more genuinely this time as he tasted the name on his tongue. "I like it."
The corner of the older man's mouth twitched upward. Ben could get used to this.
fill 1
*
Ben was beginning to hate the pink, anime-inspired mascot for this ridiculous website.
"Mr. Ren!" the high-pitched creature cooed excitedly. "Please enter the most desirable qualities for your ideal boyfriend below!"
He groaned as the screen refreshed. Hearing it out loud only made Ben all the more relieved that his roommate had moved out that morning, leaving the apartment to himself. This is what his life had come down to: signing up for sketchy pop-up window dating websites half drunk in the middle of the night.
"My ideal boyfriend..." He whispered, tapping lightly against the keyboard. He'd type in 'my stupid ex-boyfriend's brain in Poe Dameron's body with Rey's personality' if the website could even understand what he meant. With a sigh, the brunette typed: charming, dependable, intelligent, athletic, good-looking, sensitive... Ben hesitated before clicking next. He stared at the small paragraph box for a full minute, almost unblinking even as the harsh light of the laptop screen burned brightly against his sleep-deprived eyes. A quick flick of his wrist brought the clicker away from the button and back into the typing field. Silently, the brunette wrote in one last quality before quickly clicking to the next page.
Completely devoted.
"Good choices, Mr. Ren!" the mascot chirped. "You are all done! Your ideal boyfriend will be with you shortly!"
The corner of Ren's mouth went slack. "What? Where are my matches?" he muttered into the darkness.
The man closed his laptop roughly with a muffled scream. He didn't expect much from clicking on an obnoxiously flashing advertisement at three in the morning anyways.
Ben yawned before lazily shuffling to his room and then into his bed. It's not like he put any of his credit card info into the site. Hell, he didn't even use his real name.
* * *
"I didn't order this," Ben explained for the tenth time.
"Sir, please, I have other deliveries. If this isn't yours, you need to take it to the post office yourself. I just deliver it," The delivery man grunted holding out an electronic pad, awaiting his signature. After a moment of consideration, Ben sighed and yielded.
He pulled the giant, rectangular crate (heavy) covered in stamps and shipping material to the center of his living room. Ben hesitated to open the package, unsure if the postal worker would come back and realize his mistake. The young man paused when he saw the shipping slip posted on the side of the crate:
Mr. Kylo Ren
2156 Alderaanian Way
Corusant, Naboo
Kylo Ren was definitely the fake name that he'd used on that site last night. Ben ran a hand through his hair, tussling as he got to the top. He doesn't remember putting his address in but then again he was sobering up from a bender, so he was pretty out of it.
Ben figures should at least figure out what exactly it was he that he signed up.
The brunette grabbed one of the many irrelevant tools his father had given him over the years -- hammers, crowbars, a hoe -- and tried to pry open the box. Almost as soon as the first corner of the box gave into Ben's attacks, packing material spilled onto the floor of his apartment.
The mess, which Ben would agonizingly have to clean up later, occupied his attentions. He leaned down in an attempt to control the sprawling multicolored spillage until a toe caught his attention.
A brown, masculine toe. Toes.
Ben's eyes slowly followed the string of body parts upwards. Up a toned leg, past a firm thigh and beyond a well-built chest and towards an attractive face.
"Oh shit," Ben spluttered, kicking himself away from the naked man encased by packing peanuts and securely strapped to the sides of the crate. This is definitely illegal. Ben's breath is heavy, adrenaline pumping through him. He'd only just woken up, he wasn't ready for this. "What the actual fuck?"
Ben's eyes darted all over his apartment, a fear that someone must know. His eyes landed on a small red and black booklet amidst the packing peanuts at the box-person's feet. Cautiously, the brunette snapped the manual and retreated back to his position.
The mascot from the website was there. It was perched on top of an ominous logo that looked both like a biohazard symbol and a flower at once. Under any other circumstance Ben would never open it, but upon considering that he may be an accessory to a kidnapping, he relented. The first page featured in rather large block text, the name of the company: First Order Cybernetics LLC.
Dear Mr. Ren,
We appreciate the time you took to fill out our survey. We have found, based on your answers, that you would be an ideal candidate for testing the first model in our new series of mechanical companions. The FN series has all of the desires you specified on your survey. We assure you he is the ideal man for you.
That is to say, we sincerely hope he is to your liking. If there are any systems malfunctions or program discrepancies, please do not hesitate to contact us at ---
Ben stopped reading and fumbled to take his phone out of his pocket, dialing the number at an incredible speed. "Pick up, pick up," he whispered before hearing the distinct click of the phone being answered. "Yes, hello, your company delivered a man to my apartment. I didn't order this!"
There was shuffling on the other end of the line. "You must be Mr. Ren," the feminine voice responded. "It's a pleasure to speak with you. Did FN-2187 arrive unimpaired? Are you having trouble activating him?"
Ben paused a moment, the soothing tone of the woman calming his nerves. "Ma'am, this is a mistake. If I ordered this, fine but I don't want it. There is a no return address --"
"Mr. Ren," she cut him off. "If there is any defect in our product, we will correct it."
"The only defect is that there is a naked, very young man in my living room!" He shouted, rising up to pace in front of his package.
"We're sorry, sir," the woman replied. Ben sighed, about to reassure her that no, it's okay before she spoke again. "Your survey indicated you preferred males. Is this not correct?"
"What?" Ben questioned, confused at the turn the conversation seemed to be taking. "Yes, I like boys. Fuck, I mean I like men. Not boys, and this..." Ben paused to find the right words, "This person you sent me is most definitely not legal," He groaned inwardly at his statement. First and foremost: "Sending people through the mail is most definitely not legal."
"Sir," her tone was now clipped, as if she were the one being inconvenienced. "FN-2187 is 23 years in the making. If it eases your mind, he has parts older than you, Mr. Ren. Furthermore, there are no laws that our corporation knows of that prohibits the postal service from delivering our product to your home. No one would get up in arms about sending a computer in the mail."
"Computer?"
"Yes," The irritation in her voice was palpable. "Did you read the manual? FN-2187 is the beta of a revolutionary line of companion droids. He's designed to be catered to your specifications -- the perfect boyfriend. Handsome, intelligent, talented and absolutely devoted to you and only you, Mr. Ren. We need test data on how he interacts with his master --"
"Please don't use that word," Ben interrupted, quiet and absent-minded. He's staring at the man --FN-2187 -- with a mouth that's suddenly too dry in a room that's suddenly too hot. Absolutely devoted to you and only you, Mr. Ren.
"We need data on how he interacts with you," she amended. "For the others we plan to produce. We cannot start mass production without data on the fundamental purpose on our machine. We ask that you interact with FN-2187 fully. Dates, arguments, shows of affection, copulation..."
"What?"
There was a frown on the other line. "Copulation. It means to have sex."
"I know what it means," Ben replied with a comparative frown, "But he's a robot..."
"He's an android. And fully capable and programmed to pleasure both male and female lovers, if you prefer that," the woman paused for a moment. "FN-2187 will adapt and grow with your relationship. He will modify his behavior to suit your desires. Data collection will occur through his system so you are not expected to do anything tedious, Mr. Ren. It was all stated in the terms of service you agreed to on our website. Now, once again, if anything should go wrong, please contact us. Goodbye."
Click.
Ben stared at his phone. The debate raged in his mind whether to call back. Had he agreed to their terms of service? He must have agreed to something because he's still stuck with FN-2187. Ben retrieved the manual from where he had set it down.
To activate, please firmly press your lips to the FN series'. The machine is programmed to recognize the first person to do this as it's master.
There was no way Ben was kissing him. It. Him. The brunette grabbed various items and pressed them to the android's lips, waiting for a response. Fuck. Ben sighed, squaring himself in front of the crate. He undid the droid's straps, bracing himself for the man to fall over. To Ben's surprise, the android stood rigidly in place.
"All right, I can do this," Ben took a shaky breath. He leaned forward, only hesitating for a moment before he kissed his new boyfriend.
The boy opened his eyes and smiled, excited. The attention to detail must have been intense, even from close up, nothing seemed to give away the fact that he was anything less than human. The boy snaked his arms around Ben's neck slowly as gently before whispering against his chest. "Master Ren, I have been waiting all my life to meet you."
Ben's heart is pounding in his ears. The boy was so earnest that the brunette felt dirty all of a sudden.
The boy looked apologetic as he curled in on himself a bit. "Have I done something to perturb you, Master Ren?"
"No," Ben breathed out shakily. The boy's face is too close, his body hard body inhumanly warm. "Do you have a name?"
"My designation is FN-2187," he replied. He looked up coyly at the human. "Although you may call me anything you would like, Master Ren."
"Finn," Ben blurted quickly, not thinking. FN, Finn. He sure as hell wasn't going to call him a string of numbers. "Is Finn okay?"
"Finn," he smiled more genuinely this time as he tasted the name on his tongue. "I like it."
The corner of the older man's mouth twitched upward. Ben could get used to this.