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PRRRROMOTIONS of a Queer Sort

 Posting a reply to post #5729
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File: 123992493149.jpg-(83.09KB, 426x709, mitchell_hundred_ex_machina.jpg)
5729 No.5729
Someone mentioned some ambiguously gay mayor? I think it's time for Hundred promotions. It's the American Way.

Expand all images
No.5771
Oh sweet merciful Christ, do want.

No.5781
>>5771

I second this!

No.5853
File: 124002334573.jpg-(412.82KB, 1280x1980, image14.jpg)
5853
I've searched everywhere and the lack of promotions is criminal. I'll work on some this weekend. In the meantime, enjoy some completely platonic bromance.

No.5854
File: 12400233758.jpg-(463.50KB, 1280x1992, image15.jpg)
5854
>>5853

No.5855
File: 124002344963.jpg-(424.10KB, 1280x1994, image16.jpg)
5855
>>5854

No.5857
File: 124002355415.jpg-(494.40KB, 1280x1984, image19.jpg)
5857
>>5855
Kremlin knows what is going on, he's heard all about what they teach attractive young men in filthy liberal colleges.

No.5858
>>5853
>I'll work on some this weekend.
Have I mentioned lately that I love you?

No.5961
First attempt at writing Hundred and he's surprisingly hard to figure out. I'll try for something more explicit next time.
---

It was the jet pack that started it. The actual flying lost its appeal after he spent a painful half hour throwing up while clinging to the side of an office building and trying to not look down, but taking off was every bit as good the hundredth time as it was the first. Kremlin's voice snapping in his ear killed his hard on immediately, but after a good night (good being defined as any night where Mitchell didn't get the shit kicked out of him) the tingling sensation would linger. It was like static electricity mixed with the best porn in the world and it wasn't until the day he caught himself hiding issues of Popular Mechanic under his mattress like a guilty teenager that he knew he had a problem.

Unlike naked swimsuit models, the buzzing and whispering of machines were everywhere. Even taking a cold shower didn't shut them up. Sleeping with the scrambler pressed against his ear meant he woke up humping his pillow with the taste of silicon lingering in his mouth. Explicit dreams consisting entirely of zeros and ones every night was driving him nuts. Being a mature adult, it only took three attempts for Mitchell to finally make himself walk inside the sex shop. The girl behind the counter with piercing showing through her shirt was really too helpful and the fourth time she offered to put in batteries and demonstrate the products he practically threw cash at her to get out of there. Apparently this was what the terror and embarrassment of sex felt like, and Mitchell really decided that he hadn't missed anything at all.

He changed his mind fifteen minutes after getting home. And confirmed it half an hour later. All his hearing focused in on the whirling of the vibrator motor and his own panting, all the screams on cell phones and car alarms were finally gone, washed away by finally being able to feel for what seemed the first time since the accident. Or maybe the first time in his whole life, it was hard to remember before the explosion dug out pieces of his brain and replaced it with noise pollution.

He was trying to decide between finding something to eat or never leaving bed again when Bradbury knocked on his door, demanding to know if he was alright and why he wasn't answering Kremlin's phone calls. The desperate scramble for clothes only served to make him look guiltier when he answered the door out of fear Bradbury would just kick it in.

"Should I give you some alone time with your friend?" Bradbury was smirking.

"Friend? What- yeah, time would be good," Mitchell stammered, trying to ignore Bradbury's smug raised eyebrow.

"Well, congrats on reaching puberty. I'm sure Kremlin will be so proud."

Mitchell yanked Bradbury through the door in a mix of horror and pure panic. "Fuck, is Kremlin here? I haven't done anything to deserve that."

"Uh, no. You're safe." Bradbury cleared his throat and stared politely at a corner of the ceiling. Mitchell was very aware of what he looked like and fucking smells like but also the ticking of Bradbury's watch and the low thrum of his cell phone and god, he really had reverted to puberty because there was no way a guy his age should be getting hard again already. He had to bite his lip to muffle a moan and tried to take a step away from Bradbury and ended up tripping. He should have expected it, and the humiliating gasp when Bradbury grabbed him to stop him from breaking his neck. Their eyes finally met.

"Oh," was all Mitchell managed to say before Bradbury kissed him.

No.5964
>>5961
Darling, you better continue this, because it's goddamn awesome.

No.5968
>>5964

I concur. >>5961 is fucking hot, I can't wait to see what you come up with for explicit.

No.5984
File: 124013006072.png-(866.75KB, 686x685, ExMachina.png)
5984
I thought this was adorable.

No.5999
File: 124015921671.jpg-(526.59KB, 1024x1612, Ex Machina #25 pg16.jpg)
5999
>>5984
I'm a sucker for all the flashback scenes with them. Even if it's not in a romantic sense, Bradbury and Mitchell love each other.

No.6002
>>5999
Looking at that pci, I've realized what we're missing, Pherson Arch-nemesis porn.

No.6005
>>6002
Pherson would try to hump him for dominance like wolves do.

No.6063
>>5961

YOU HAVE MADE MY DAY, ANON.

No.6068
>>5961

Oh, that is hot.

No.6167
>>6002
Still being an engineer at heart, Mitchell made a mental list of the problems to overcome in his current situation upon waking up. One, he was at the mercy of his not-arch-nemesis Pherson. Two, he was tied up. Three, he was gagged so he couldn't call any of his equipment which had been removed.

"Aw, little Hundred, finally I have you. You may be half machine, but it's time you experience the superiority of pure animal instinct."

Four, Pherson was naked. Naked and rubbing against his back like the annoying spaniel down the street when he was a kid. Mitchell closed his eyes and really hoped that he could die of embarrassment before the rescue.

No.6172
>>6167

Oh god, this is hilarious! The mental image will never leave my brain.

No.6177
File: 12403729496.jpg-(12.26KB, 348x348, hd2z.jpg)
6177
http://www.peselectro.com/
Electro stimulation sex play. We may have discovered Hundred's secret kink. They even have his Great Machine gimp mask.

No.6273
Please don't let this thread die, needs more Hundred/Bradbury/Hundred

No.6300
I like to imagine that the appliances Hundred hears are a reflection of their owners.
--

He pulled it out again. That big, blond gorilla just had to go wave around his damn gun again. Jesus, if he knew the things it said to him... Hundred groaned and undid the button of his pants. Just imagining Bradbury with that long, smooth piece of metal in his hands gave him an erection. The way he handled it didn't help, either. Caressing that damn thing like it was a, shit, like a lover. He moaned briefly as he managed to free his cock from it's confinement. Stroking it once, Hundred thought back to the situation that had caused his arousal. A disgruntled person had decided to crash the dedication of some new building, ranting and raving about how Hundred was Satan, "sent on Earth to lead us all astray." Really, Mitchell wasn't paying very close attention, he was focused more on ducking and running. Then Bradbury whipped out his gun, and it started to talk to him. Whispering words and feelings of how good he would look spread out eager to be full, the scent skin and the taste of sweat overwhelmed him. Mitchell couldn't think, he just stood there until Candice grabbed him by the hand and yanked him off the platform. It took all of his willpower not to come in his damn pants. Now, though, with the lights off at the Gracie mansion, he was free to indulge, not that it would make too much of a difference. Hundred was too far gone already, the images the gun had left were still to fresh and vivid. A warm hand, larger than his own stroking him. A thick, blunt cock forcing him open, claiming him. A soft, gruff voice whispering words that only he could hear. Panting one name, Mitchell came.
"Rick."

No.6338
>>6300

Fffffffff. Uh, yes.

No.6384
>>6300

UNF. Oh Mitchell, now all we need is to see Bradbury fuck you.

No.6566
On this thread alone, I shotgunned the entire series today. I can't promise it'll be good, but I hope to bump with written content in the very near future.

No.6672
>>6566
I think any content would be awesome content.

No.7908
Well this only took me two fucking weeks to get around to.

FICLET NO. 1


"You know I can't hear you when you do that," Mitchell hissed, rolling his head to the left, pressing his cheek into the pillow and cutting off Bradbury's access to his left ear. Bradbury grimaced, leaning back and urging Mitchell to look forward once more by way of sliding his fingers over his jaw.

"I forget. S'a good ear," he grunted in reply, reaching back to push the covers down over his hips. Mitchell always kept Gracie too damned hot for his liking; considering the usual result of his time spent at the Mansion, Bradbury would much have preferred a slightly cooler climate.

Mitchell pressed his head back against the pillow, arching his neck and tilting his chin upwards. His fingernails dug little half-circles against Bradbury's shoulders, pressing white spots of pressure into pale and tattooed skin alike.

"Perhaps I should have gotten it reconstr - ah! - ...reconstructed as a fucking elephant ear, and then less people would assume that I have perfect hearing..."

Bradbury grinned, now unencumbered by the blankets, and reached back to prop Mitchell's calf up over his shoulder. He knocked his hands away, using one of his own to pin slim wrists up against the headboard.

"Sure do talk a lot when you've got something inside of you, boss..."

Mitchell groaned, the new angle allowing Bradbury to press in deeper, stretch him further, fold him almost in half. His spine curved like a bow and he arched upwards, the stiff muscles of his thighs protesting a new stretch as Bradbury leaned forward to bite his jaw. Mitchell grinned. Now was the portion of the evening in which he pushed his luck.

"Nnn...perhaps if you were giving me so...uuhhn...something better to focus on..."

No.7909
FICLET N0.2


For Mitchell Hundred, everything happened in threes.

There had been three moments in his life that had changed him profoundly, for better or for worse. The death of his father, the explosion at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge, and the clear-skied morning of September the Ninth that had far too quickly filled with smoke and dust.

There were three occurrences that had changed the direction of his life, deviating greatly from his original plan for a modest future of blueprints, industry success, and perhaps a small brass plate outside of an ugly building one day when everything else had been laid to rest. There had been the night on the boat with Bradbury, of course, followed by the first dream, and then rounded out by the beginning of his somewhat ill-advised political career.

Then, more often pushed to the side than not, there were the people in his life. Three men that had shaped him, for better or for worse, into the man that he saw in the mirror, every morning. Kremlin, Pherson, and Bradbury.

Of course, continuing in the trend that he had set for himself, there were three things about Rick Bradbury that would never fail to trip him, to draw his attention away from whatever was sitting in the forefront of his mind at any given time.

His hands. His big, stupid, blond-hairs on the backs of his fingers, hands. His fingers were thick and clumsy, the tips blunt with ragged, chewed nails. The palms and heels were calloused from the butts of too many guns, too many falls to the pavement, and too many days picking Mitchell up from the ground. They were, in every sense, a working man's hands and so different from Mitchell's, whose had become soft and manicured, smooth from running over stacks of paper.

It was always Bradbury's hands that gave away what was on his mind. Rough, nicotine stained fingertips sliding over Mitchell's thigh, tugging on his tie and pulling his shirt from beneath his belt. Mitchell would roll his eyes and bat them away, only to have both hands come back and forcibly tug him away from whatever else was currently occupying his time. They were always first, and always last; thick fingers slick with sweat and lube that - after both men had come, exhausted and laying together in a tangled pile of limbs and bedsheets - would creep back for one last tease. Bradbury would push two inside, holding Mitchell back against his chest with his free arm around his waist, gently fucking him with his fingers until he could drag out one last gasping, exhausted orgasm. It was like a signature, a need to reach in and find Mitchell wet, stretched, sticky.

Bradbury's eyelashes. God, his damn eyelashes. They were thick, black, and long in a way that a less intimidating man could never get away with. They were a distraction during the day, when he would lower his sunglasses and grin with his eyes and damn it, they were a distraction at night when Bradbury screwed his eyes shut in concentration, lashes bending and folding against his cheeks.

There was no way Mitchell could get around them, and he'd found himself staring at them at usually the most inappropriate times. The best, however, the absolute <i>best</i> time to enjoy them was when he could get five minutes to himself and spend that time on his knees, one hand pushing Bradbury's thigh to the side and the other holding steady the base of his cock. Bradbury would usually lean over him with one hand in Mitchell's hair, giving him the perfect vantage point to watch the dark, twitching lashes. More often that not he'd lose his momentum and choke, pulling back to gag and splutter in what was less than a dignified manner. Bradbury knew exactly what he'd done and he'd laugh, batting his eyelids and guiding Mitchell down for a second attempt.

But the worst...the absolute <i>worst</i> was the third thing that always caught Mitchell's attention, the one thing about Bradbury that had drawn him past friendship and brotherhood for the first time. The way he smelled.

To Mitchell, Bradbury smelled like cigarettes and metal. Stale first-cigarette-of-the-morning smoke, and the faint smell of warm, responsive steel. Like the handle of a gun, warming with the heat of his hands. Sweat and cologne was lost underneath the smoke and the steel, and the combination, to Mitchell, was perfect.

The scent clung to him even after he'd stripped out of his suit, bypassing a shower in favour of digging his fingers into Mitchell's bare hips. Mitchell twisted and changed the position each time, sitting in Bradbury's lap with his legs around his waist, grinding down against his cock and pressing his face against the curve of his neck. It was perfect, and every time he breathed in he brought back the scent of cigarettes and warm metal.

Mitchell occasionally stopped to think about it, how three such specific details were more than a little strange to focus on. It simply never occurred to him that out of the many, many lists of three that had shaped his life, his most favourite parts of Bradbury could be considered very, very normal.

No.7910
FICLET NO.3


"You know, that's a little kinky..."

Bradbury frowned, pausing his firm, headboard-shaking thrusting to glance down at Mitchell, arching a blond eyebrow.

"What's that, boss?"

"That," Mitchell replied, fingers curling around the edge of his pillow, arms wrenched back above his head. Bradbury had been in a manhandling-sort-of-mood when they had started, and he usually found it safest to find something, anything, to hold on to.

"That <i>what</i>?"

"<i>That</i> that."

Bradbury grunted, his grimace twisting into a sour, strained sort of upside down smile and he leaned back, threatening to pull out completely.

"You may have noticed, boss, that I'm in the middle of something. Is now the time for mind games?" he growled, folding his arms across his bare chest. Mitchell whined softly, grabbing two hand-fulls of tattooed bicep and yanking him back down.

"You keep calling me <i>boss</i>. When we're fucking. That doesn't strike you as a little abnormal?"

Bradbury shrugged, sliding his arm around Mitchell's waist and leaning back, using the momentum to drag him up into his lap. Mitchell gasped, gravity and his own body weight pushing him down onto what, on the best of days, was an extremely thick and heavy prick.

"Nah. Abnormal would be last week, and I slammed you down so hard that the alarm clock when off and all of the lights started flickering. If that doesn't bother me, why should this?"

Mitchell frowned a little, propping his knees against Bradbury's considerably larger hips, using the leverage to push up and then grind down, satisfied to hear a sharp moan from what he affectionately thought of as his big, blond ape.

""F-fuck...mmm...I suppose not..." He shuddered forward, fingers curling against Bradbury's chest, forehead against his chin. He braced himself for the big hands that would settle on his hips, lifting him up and pushing him back down...but there was a hesitation.

"You know what <i>is</i> weird?"

Mitchell whimpered again, having already decided that the talking portion was over, and it was high time that they got back to the fucking.

"<i>What?</i>"

Bradbury grinned. "How much you talk when I'm balls-deep inside of you...you're a chatty lay..."

"Well, maybe you should do you job properly..." Mitchell found himself pouting and turned away, not quite fast enough to prevent Bradbury noticing. He laughed and pressed his thumb to Mitchell's lower lip, pushing down to force his mouth open, sliding two fingers inside.

"Bet I can think of a dozen better ways to use this thing...

No.7911
AND FICLET NO.4, Bradbury-Style


Mitchell Hundred had the prettiest mouth in all of New York, and it was starting to piss Rick off.

The damn thing never stopped moving. Ever. When he wasn't talking he was smiling, and when he wasn't smiling his lips were twitching into little clever half-smirks. They moved with every thought, small and deceptively plump.

In a word - pretty.

It drove Rick crazy. It was worse now, knowing that he could do what he wanted with the fucking thing once the day was done and the public eye was shuttered by the privacy of Gracie Mansion. Back before he'd made the dubious decision to get <i>really</i> drunk with his employer and friend two New Years Eves ago it wasn't so bad. He could watch from a distance as the end of yet another pen made itself towards those clever lips and comfort himself with the fact that even if he wasn't able to use them to their fullest extent, no one else was, either. Mayor Hundred was a busy man, and getting caught with some faceless man-of-the-week wasn't exactly what his reputation needed.

But now...now that he knew them, knew them <i>intimately</i>, it was almost unbearable. Watching him speak, watching him smile...hell, watching him purse his lips in concentration, hesitating before answering, even that was almost too much. Rick would let his mind wander, a dangerous activity for a man working under the title of 'bodyguard'.

They could stretch. <i>Damn</i> they could stretch, wide and thin around the base of his cock, cheeks sucked in and creating a tight little vacuum of warm, wet pressure. Mitchell could suck dick like he ate, slept, and breathed. Rick was more than alright with that.

Every smirk was an invitation, and more often than not Rick had pushed him down onto his knees, kept him there, and unbuckled his belt with one hand. Nobody got a response out of him like Mitchell did, his cock was swollen and eagerly twitching in a minute flat. The lips were only the start, too...Rick was far from small, or even average...yet Mitchell could take him to the back of his throat with hardly a pause or a gag, all the while grinning that shit-eating-grin with his eyes alone.

It was no different when they fucked. Mitchell bit his lower lip, bit it until it was swollen and red. The first time Rick noticed it was in a mirror, his hands on Mitchell's hips, dragging him back from where he lay sprawled against the bathroom counter. Rick glanced up once and almost lost it, catching a reflection of Mitchell's face. His eyes were closed, the left side of his face had taken on a slight glow, his cheeks were pink...and by god, he was biting his lip like he was afraid it was going to up and run away. They had cracked the marble counter that day and it still remained in such a state - Mitchell claimed he had yet to think up a convincing story for the repair men.

As insufferable as it was, life in the mayoral office would have been much slower without such a distraction. Rick could happily daydream away the hours of down-time, focusing on what he liked to think of something that was, and would remain, exclusively his. He had a feeling that Mitchell was on to him. There was no fooling that man and, besides...he'd noticed that Mitchell had been smiling and grinning a lot more in the past few months.

It was a good thing, too. Mitchell Hundred <i>did</i> have an extraordinarily pretty mouth.

No.7912
And now, I am exhausted and my hands hurt from typing. Thank you and goodnight!

No.7917
File: 12420255789.png-(145.84KB, 500x468, chin up boss.png)
7917
tg, you are the awesomest.

No.7926
>>7908
You actually did it! Yay and forever!

No.7938
>>7912

These are amazing and totally worth the wait. Marry me and never stop writing please?

No.7966
>>7917
>>7926

Thank you!

>>7938

*BLUSHES* Aww, thank you. I would, but taken....however you may give me prompts. Proooompts. Give me something to write!

No.7971
>>7966

Hmmm, prompts. Well I would love to see something along the lines of Mitchell's and Bradburys first time maybe adding in the first time they realized they loved each other. (because I am a HUGE sap that way.)

No.8001
>>7971
Seconding! I love first times, and sappiness.

No.8033
Maybe something like early in the relationship, Mitchell is annoyed that Bradbury is treating him too gently in bed, tries to keep telling him "more, harder," eventually goes into machine voice and blows all the fuses?

No.8847
It's a long one, so I'm posting it in parts.


The storm is well underway when they arrive at the safehouse, which isn’t really a safehouse at all, but a shitty little two bedroom house outside of the city. It has definitely seen better days. Then again, so has Mitchell and he finds it strangely, stupidly unfair to judge the house for its lack of charm when he is contributing to it by dragging in mud, blood, and the distinctive odor of singed hair.

“You sure this is the right place?” he asks, dubious as he stands in the entrance hall. The lights are on but dim and every time the thunder cracks they flicker alarmingly. On the bright side, there isn’t much to tune out – and thank god for that because he left his “medicine” at his apartment – just the usual cell phones and appliances. And Bradbury’s gun, which exhibits a distinct pleasure at being clasped in his big hands, going so far as to purr if such a thing is possible. Mitchell ignores it pointedly.

“This is the address Kremlin gave me. Anyway, the key worked, didn’t it?” Bradbury answers, shouldering past him. He creeps into the living room where his wary stance drops away immediately. “Seriously? No fucking television?”

“I’m not entertaining enough for you?” Mitchell crosses his arms and stares at the spot on the rickety entertainment center where the television should have been sitting. He can’t quite keep the smirk off of his face, though he kind of feels Bradbury’s pain on this one. They’re stuck here for at least a day, maybe two, and he sure as hell didn’t remember to pack any cards.

“No.” That flat response, devoid of any smart-ass rejoinder, tells Mitchell all he needs to know about the state of Bradbury’s mind.

“I’ll see what there is to eat,” he offers, kicking off his shoes and padding into the kitchen. It’s kind of dingy and there are a few dead bugs in the sink. Wrinkling his nose, Mitchell flicks on the faucet and watches them swirl down the drain. “Sick.” He crosses to the fridge and stops, taking a moment to admire its behemoth, pre-war glory. He can easily imagine childish drawings of Hitler as a poopy-head proudly displayed on its yellowing door. Grinning, he tugs it open and sticks his head inside.

Mustard. Government cheese. A pack of turkey that passed its eat by date about five months ago and is currently a sickly shade of pink. Mitchell’s stomach roils and he closes the door.

“No good?” Bradbury is standing in the doorway, pale eyebrow arched. Mitchell shrugs.

“Not unless you wanna eat zombie lunch meat. Without bread.” He sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “There’s mustard. Mustard can’t go bad, can it?”

“If anyone can make it go bad, it’s Kremlin,” Bradbury answers. “The hell is this place, anyway, his love nest?”

“That’s vile, but explains the general air of neglect and disuse.” They share smiles, furtive expressions of childish, uncharitable glee that quickly melt away in the face of reality. Which is this: they are stuck in a crummy house full of dead bugs, no food, and scant entertainment while a storm rages outside. All of it for a good cause, of course; neither man wants to spend time in jail and Mitchell’s latest jetpack indiscretion will likely blow over by the weekend, but until then they have only each other for company.

They stare at each other for a second, then Bradbury shrugs. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sweet dreams,” Mitchell calls wistfully, leaning against the fridge. He would kill for a box of shrimp lo mein. Evading the law always made him hungry.

No.8848
>>8847


***

Kremlin calls first thing in the morning and tells them to stay put for another day. He sounds cheerful in a twisted sort of way and Bradbury calls him a fucking Commie under his breath as he hangs up the phone. Mitchell, fresh from the shower – which looks disturbingly like a torture chamber – and perched on the kitchen counter, drums his bare feet on the cabinet and wishes that he had a change of clothes.

“All of my stuff smells like body odor and fuel,” he says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bradbury answers. “You look great in a towel.”

“It’s very Roman of me,” Mitchell agrees. “Maybe we should redesign my costume.”

“Go put on your pants before that thing flaps open and I go blind.”

They go on a supply run, which means that they drive down a few blocks to the decrepit grocery store to buy frozen pizza, frozen burritos, frozen Chinese food, a pack of cards, and beer. They’re halfway back to the house before Mitchell remembers that there isn’t a microwave in the house. He laughs hysterically all the way to the pawn shop and utters strange little hiccupping giggles as Bradbury slams down some cash on the counter for a toaster oven that has endured the loving hand of an enthusiastic child supplied with permanent markers.

“The oven thinks that Krista is a doo-doo smelly puss,” Mitchell observes.

“I think you’re about to have a broken smelly puss,” Bradbury answers.

“That kind of sounded like a come-on,” Mitchell says cheerfully.

“What did you say?” Bradbury asks. “Please punch me in the face, Rick?”

“That’s why I like you. Such a sense of humor.”

***

The toaster oven cooks things lopsided, a fact of which it politely informs Mitchell as he sticks a couple of burritos on the rack. Bradbury collapses heavily into one of the mismatched chairs that ring the scarred kitchen table and cracks open a beer. It hisses briefly and then silence falls thick between them.

Mitchell shifts back and forth, rocking on the balls of his toes as the smell of refried beans and spiced meat of dubious origin fills the kitchen. His stomach, never all that discerning in the first place, complains loudly and Mitchell presses the heel of his hand against his gut.

“Wanna play poker?” he asks.

“Might as well,” Bradbury answers, shrugging broad shoulders. He fishes the cards out of his pocket and starts to shuffle. His thick fingers are surprisingly dexterous, flipping and sifting the cards with an expert grace that worries Mitchell a little. Frowning, he opens the toaster oven and shifts the burritos so that they’ll cook evenly. The oven expresses its approval as he crosses the room and sits down at the table.

“Five card draw?” Bradbury doesn’t wait for an answer, just starts flicking the cards onto the table. Mitchell frowns again, picks up his cards. A three, a four, two jacks, and a six.

“Wild cards?” he asks hopefully. Bradbury shakes his head as he arranges his cards. “Well, what are we betting?”

“You don’t have any money?”

Mitchell shakes his head and Bradbury sighs heavily. “We could play strip poker,” Mitchell suggests brightly. It earns him a glare and he beams as he discards the three and four. Bradbury deals him two new cards, a jack and a six. Full house, not too shabby.

“If I win this hand, you have to cook the rest of the time we’re here,” Bradbury says.

“Fair enough. And if I win, you have to give me your shirt.” Bradbury’s eyes narrow and Mitchell shrugs. “Mine smells.”

“Fine.” Bradbury lays down his hand, revealing three eights. Beaming, Mitchell reveals his full house. Bradbury stares at it for a second, then sighs and strips off his shirt. He’s covered in tattoos, arms and chest, and Mitchell studies them as he trades shirts. One catches his eye, half hidden by the waist of Bradbury’s jeans, but enough shows for him to identify it.

“Is that my mask?” he asks, bemused. Red creeps up Bradbury’s neck and he shrugs.

“I get tattoos of important things.” He gathers the cards and starts to shuffle them again, but Mitchell reaches for him, gesturing for him to lean back.

“I wanna see the rest.”

“No, fuck off!” Bradbury swats at him, rising from his chair. Mitchell’s fingers are already tangled in his belt loops and he falls out of his own chair, dragging Bradbury’s jeans down slightly to expose the entire tattoo. It’s a good rendition and as he’s admiring the line work, Bradbury’s hand descends to deliver a stinging slap to the side of his head.

“Ow!”

“I told you not to do that,” Bradbury growls, tugging his jeans back up. Mitchell makes a face and rises, shuffling back to the toaster oven to extract the burritos.

“You didn’t have to hit me,” he grouses. Bradbury rolls his eyes and takes his plate.

“Instinct,” he says.

“Smelly puss,” Mitchell replies.

No.8849
>>8848


***

Bradbury’s shirt is much, much too big for him. The sleeves fall down past his elbows and the hem stops at mid-thigh. Sometime around noon, he strips off his jeans and stretches out on the couch in boxers and the t-shirt. It’s almost like being at home, except for the fact that at home, no one makes fun of the fact that he has the Flash logo all over his boxers.

“You’re like a kid,” Bradbury says. He’s sitting in a decrepit armchair, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. “Give me my shirt back.”

“I am not,” Mitchell replies. “And no. Has Kremlin called yet?”

“He called while you were in the bathroom. Says it’s hopeless. We have to stay here forever.”

“Just go ahead and shoot me, then. Is it just me or does this water stain kind of look like a rhinoceros?”

“It’s just you. Get up and do a dance or something. I’m bored.”

“Why don’t you clean your gun?”

Bradbury grunts and shrugs and fetches his kit from the trunk of his car, spreading it out across the scratched coffee table. Smiling, Mitchell closes his eyes and listens to Bradbury’s gun whisper and thrill as he takes it apart and rubs it down. It’s a little bit like listening to a bizarre, boarderline incomprehensible porno, but it beats the hell out of staring at the ceiling.

***

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.” His words sound a little slurry, even to him, and Mitchell squints as he counts the beer cans neatly lined up along the bottom of the couch. There are twice the number that he was expecting and he makes a soft noise of surprise before settling his latest victim on the floor next to its kin.

“Do what?” Bradbury asks. It’s pretty clear from the tone of his voice that Mitchell is disrupting his game of Solitaire, but Mitchell continues anyhow.

“This,” he sighs. “Be me. The Great Machine. I don’t wanna do it anymore.”

Seconds tick by in silence, then Bradbury speaks again, cautious. “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah.”

“That why you’re saying this?”

“I guess. It’s the truth, though. I’m not doing anyone any good, am I?” He sighs and curls his toes experimentally. They’re numb. He curls his lip back, taps his teeth with a fingernail. Numb, too. “All I do is chase down crooks that don’t really matter and piss people off.”

“That’s not true,” Bradbury protests, setting down the cards. They hiss softly as the stack collapses. “What about Pherson? Someone’s gotta deal with him.”

“If there wasn’t a me, there wouldn’t be a Pherson,” Mitchell points out, mouth twisting sourly. Self-pity isn’t really his style, but sometimes a guy just has to get shit off of his chest. “The only reason he figured out how to do his little trick is because I was flying around drawing attention to myself.”

“Yeah, but he’s here now.” There’s some small amount of sympathy in Bradbury’s voice, but not much. “And he’s got it in for you.”

“He’s a moron.” Mitchell closes his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

Silence again, then Bradbury’s hand on his wrist. It surprises him and he jumps a little, head swimming. Big brown eyes regard him from about an inch away and he smiles slightly, wistfully. “You talked to Kremlin about this yet?” Bradbury asks.

“No, and I’m not going to. Neither are you.” Mitchell turns his head and presses his nose briefly against Bradbury’s. The action earns him a faint scowl but nothing more. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself, all right? I’m not throwing in the towel.”

“All right.” Bradbury doesn’t sound convinced. His hand, rough and warm, shifts to push hair back from Mitchell’s brow and Mitchell, much like the Smith & Wesson, purrs like a kitten under the soft caress.

No.8850
>>8849

***

Mitchell cries out sharply, much louder than he meant to, and a big hand descends to cover his mouth, smothering the noise.

“Keep it down.” Bradbury is out of breath, his voice low and shaking. “Can’t fucking believe I’m doing this.” His hand shifts away, returns to slip under Mitchell’s hips and lift them up off of the bed. Mitchell laughs low in his throat. His head is still spinning and it all seems very, very funny all of a sudden. The way the caressing gave way to stroking, which gave way to embracing, which almost ended abruptly when Mitchell kissed Bradbury’s nose but then blossomed into something completely different when the next kiss landed on its mark and Bradbury’s tongue slipped past his lips.

As it is doing now, slick and strong, probing and tangling with his own tongue as Bradbury arches against him, one hand fumbling to grip his prick and press the head against Mitchell’s ass. And is it strange that he can’t stop thinking of him as Bradbury? Can’t wrap his head around the fact that the man’s name is Rick, for fuck’s sake, Rick, who is pushing in now, thick and achingly hard, stretching him almost to the limit. Mitchell cries out again and digs his nails into Bradbury’s - Rick’s - shoulders.

“Jesus, Mitch,” he breathes. It might as well be nonsense words because as soon as he says it he starts to move, hips twitching back and forth, hesitant at first then gaining speed and force with each inward motion until the thrusts bottom out and he voices a rough, animal cry of pleasure. Mitchell hears it, registers it, answers it with his own trembling moan. It feels like he can barely catch his breath, as though each inward thrust steals the air from his lungs and forces every nerve in his body to focus on the delicious ache between his legs and the endless sparks of pleasure that flash like electricity through his body.

“Rick,” he sighs, obscurely pleased with himself for getting it right. It feels good on his tongue and he says it again, over and over, a rising litany of ecstasy that ends in a drawn out shriek of surprise and desperate release as Rick’s fingers curl around his cock and stroke him into orgasm. Every muscle in his body clenches, drawing Rick in as deep as he’ll go, as close as he’ll get, and Mitchell watches in dazed awe as Rick’s face twists, contorting in pleasure as he comes deep inside Mitchell.

He mumbles something as he rolls to the side. Mitchell doesn’t even try to decipher it. His last thought before he curls up against Rick’s back and goes to sleep is absurd but satisfying.

Ha ha, gun, I win…

***

“Kremlin called.” Bradbury stands in the door, towel slung around his hips. Mitchell sits up, blinking owlishly and leering a little at the faint swell of Bradbury’s belly. It takes him a second to process the words.

“We going home?” he asks. He’s not surprised to hear disappointment in his voice and neither, it seems, is Bradbury.

“Yeah, we’ve been given the all clear.”

They watch each other for a second, gauging reactions. Mitchell knows full well how very badly this could go and he prays to a god he doesn’t quite believe in that Bradbury doesn’t choose the easy way out. To pretend it never happened… there isn’t anything more cruel than that.

He licks his lips. Bradbury rubs the back of his neck. “Mitch,” he says. His lips twist down and Mitchell’s heart sinks. “It might not be safe. At your place.”

“I could stay with Kremlin,” Mitchell offers faintly.

“You could,” Bradbury acknowledges. “My place is… cleaner.”

Relief thunders through him like a hurricane, sweeping away all of the vague doubts and recriminations that have already started to build up. He smiles brilliantly and the return twitch of Bradbury’s lips is all the confirmation that he needs.

“Great,” he says, slipping out of bed. “I’ll get the toaster oven.”

No.8851
>>8850

And that's all!

No.8852
>>8847
>>8848
>>8849
>>8850

These are so damn cute! I love how you added Rick getting a tattoo of Mitchell's mask and the flash boxers made me giggle. Just purrfict!

No.8853
>>8850
Yay! I love this fic! So good.

No.8878
on the strength of this thread I dl'd all the comics directly into my brain, and they are awesome. But is this the only place on the internets where Ex Mach porn exists??

No.8892
>>8878

It's really sad to say but, yea this is pretty much it.

No.8893
>>8878

Pretty much, yeah. But so far? DAMN the porn is of an excellent quality.

Also, I did the same thing. Saw this thread, read the entire series in a day, went out and bought it. SO good.

No.8904
>>8892

well this needs to be rectified (huhuh) STAT.

No.9541
Please don't let this thread die. This is the only place for Bradbury/Mitchell.

No.9578
just got thru the whole series. Will try to whip up some pornz this week. Stay tuned, /coq/...

No.10194
>>9578

This ship is now semi-canon, Needs more fic!
Mitchell in a recording said he loved Bradbury I really wish I could post the page but I can't find the scan

No.10242
Oh my god, and it was not the way you talk about loving a buddy, either. Porn is imminent, kids.

...if I made an lj group, would anybody join it? and post stuff?

No.10247
>>10242
I would join it, but I'm making no promises about posting. However, I will try to commit something to paper/screen if said community is made.

No.10251
>>10242

I would join, but I'm not a writer but I do draw, I just don't post a lot of my artwork online. Like >>10247 I would try to post some drawings.

No.10271
>>10242
Which issue number are you guys talking about? Cause I thought the newest one was 42, but I can't remember anything like that....

No.10273
>>10271

The newest is 43, it was released on the 17th of this month.

No.10285
...way to go, /coq/, you have me interested in yet another thing I had not previously heard of. where might I find this to peruse before purchasing? my local comic book shop is sadly not so local.

I can't speak to the IC-ness of the fic posted here so far but I can at least say that it's all ridiculously well-written and hot. and, y'know, makes me want to buy things just so I can follow along better. well done, writefags! keep it up!

No.10286
>>10285
Well, there's always /rs/.

No.10290
>>10285

Personally, I downloaded it and loved it so much, I bought the entire series from amazon.com and my LCS. It's too good NOT to support with your $$$.

Also, I have porn to post.

No.10291
Employer, Best friend, and Occasional Love of his Life.


*


"Boss..."

Bradbury frowned, staring at the top of Mitchell's head and drumming his fingertips against the underside of the table, a table against which he was currently propping himself.

"Mitch..."

Still no response. He bucked his hips once, stifling a laugh as Mitchell's head bobbed back and lolled to the side, a blissful look of exhaustion on his face.

Or the top of his head, which was really the only part that Bradbury could see, anyway.

"Come on, buddy,' he groaned, gently slapping Mitch's cheek. That at least earned him a grunt and the swat of one hand - which was better than nothing, and so he tried again. Harder. With feeling.

"Fuck!" Mitchell jerked back, holding one hand to his cheek and staring up, flickers of green light edging down from his hairline, illuminating the left side of his face. The lights dimmed, but only briefly. "What did you do that for?"

Bradbury grinned, sniffing and rubbing at his nose in order to conceal his grin, shoulders hunched in a shrug.

"No reason, boss. Only that you were asleep with my cock in your mouth...or, at least, I would have <i>liked</i> for it to have been in your mouth."

Mitchell scowled, leaning back on his ankles, legs folded beneath him as he knelt on the floor. Slowly, but surely, a lazy grin spread across his face and he mirrored the shrug.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have burst into my home, with your 'Oooh, Mitchell, my dick is so hard....' and your 'Hey, Mitch, get on your knees and I'll make it worth your while...'"

He paused enough to fold his arms, and arch one eyebrow in question, still looking up from the floor.

"You do realise that I have something of a high-pressure job? What with the whole...running an immensely...densely...populated city?"

Another pause, this one stretching and leaving an awkward silence between the two. Mitchell tried in vain to <i>not</i> stare at Bradbury's erect cock, as enticing as it was sitting right in front of his face, and instead burst out laughing.

"What?" Bradbury snapped, frustration growing as Mitchell's giddy laughter rose in pitch and irritation. "What the hell is so funny?"

Mitchell leaned back, the base of his neck resting on the edge of the couch. He covered his mouth with both hands like a child caught swearing, but the edges of his eyes crinkled with his grin.

"Densely and immensely. They rhyme..."

Bradbury hesitated for a moment, sure that the snapping of his patience had made an actual, audible crack. There was only so much that he could take and Mitchell had been in a peculiar mood, giggling and making stupid jokes since Bradbury had knocked on the door. In the future, there were definitely going to be no more late night booty calls...

"That's it," he growled, reaching down and hauling Mitchell up by his collar, turning and slamming him back against the table. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, Mitch. Maybe it's exhaustion, maybe you're drunk...but there's only so much waiting a good man can do."

He turned Mitchell again, shoving him forward and reaching around his waist to grab at his belt.

"You know," Mitchell gasped, bracing his hands on the wall and realising, to his delight, that he was facing a mirror. He stuck his tongue out at himself, and laughed.

"If you <i>wanted</i> sex, all you had to do was ask..."

"Yeah," Bradbury replied, freeing the belt and whipping it loose, tossing it to the ground. Mitchell's pants followed, pooling around his ankles. "And you would have told me a fuckin' knock knock joke, or some stupid fact about...I don't know...Captain America or some shit...now suck on these."

"I don't <i>read</i> Captain Am..mmmph!" Mitchell bucked backwards, pressing himself against Bradburys chest as his eyes widened in surprise. Three fingers had been pushed into his mouth, pressing down against his tongue, and it took him a few moments before he began to relish the task.

He curled his tongue around the middle finger, groaning very softly, little more than a hushed moan, pulling it deeper into his mouth. He repeated the process with the other two, sucking on each finger so carefully and with so much consideration that it was as if he was expecting a quiz afterward.

"Fuck, Mitch..." Bradbury hissed, closing his eyes and working his free hand into Mitchell's boxers. He wrapped his fingers around Mitchell's prick, working him to full hardness with tight, rough-palmed strokes. "All I wanted was to feel that around my dick...why couldn't you have done that down on your knees, huh?"

He felt Mitchell grin, a grin that quickly threatened to become another giggling fit, and so Bradbury hurried ahead with the next step. He pulled his fingers free from the mouth of the giggling mess also known as the mayor of New York City, and yanked his boxers down around his knees. He slid two fingers inside right away, hesitating at the first moan of discomfort.

"You okay, boss?" he asked softly, his left arm snaking around Mitchell's chest, holding him upright. Mitchell's hands were still firmly planted either side of the mirror.

"Y..yeah..." He nodded, swallowing and opening his eyes. Focusing on his own face, watching sweat bead at his temples and catching the odd glimpse of Bradbury's face, intense and possessed...it for some reason made the pressure and the stretching a little easier to bear.

Bradbury continued, twisting his fingers a little in order to push in up to the third knuckle, going slowly as to not tear or damage. Saliva for lube was hardly preferable...but a man had to use what he had handy.

"Third one," Mitch gasped the words out, his speech stilted and strained. Bradbury nodded, finding it a little easier, Mitchell already having been stretched just enough.

He worked his fingers slowly, gently, crooking and rubbing at the right moment, knowing exactly where and when to touch in order to reduce Mitchell to a gibbering, moaning wreck. It didn't take very long before he was slumped forward, forehead pressed to reflected forehead, fingers curling against palms as he pushed back, rolling his hips and clenching gently around three thick, calloused fingers.

"More?" Bradbury asked.

"More..." Mitchell replied, trying to hold back the disappointed whimper as the fingers were removed, leaving a dull ache and a terrible emptiness.

Working quickly now, a clear goal in mind, Bradbury spat on his palm several times, lubricating himself as well as he could. He wanted to shut Mitchell up, yes, and fuck him hard enough that the poor guy would actually get a decent amount of sleep...but, well, he didn't want to <i>cripple</i> him.

The thick, blunt head of his prick replaced his fingers quickly enough, pressing against Mitchell for less than a second. There was no teasing or waiting when it came to fucking like this - it was want and need and necessity, something that the both of them understood. Bradbury didn't keep him waiting, one hand wrapped around the base of his own cock, the other guiding Mitchell's hips back.

To his credit, Mitchell didn't scream as Bradbury forced him open. He'd learned a long time ago that screaming plus intense passion usually ended in a blown fuse box and a dozen shattered lightbulbs. Instead he bit the inside of his cheeks and stabbed his fingernails into his palms, rolling his hips back an inch at a time.

It was a slow, agonizing burn that quickly turned into a feeling of immense fullness, all movement eventually stopping as Bradbury's chest pressed to Mitchell's back. He held him with both arms now, one around his chest and the other around his waist, before Mitchell squirmed forward and cleared his throat.

"Knock knock..." Bradbury scowled.

"Oh no you fucking don't..." he replied, dropping one hand to brace the table against the wall, pushing himself back before slamming in with a surprising strength. Mitchell yelped in surprise, grinning despite himself, and he pressed his palms flat against the wall.

Bradbury set a grinding pace from the start, using the table as leverage to pull himself out before shoving back in, spreading his feet on the floor and paying little to no attention to Mitchell's gasping pleas and breathless whimpers. That was a sure fire way to end things prematurely, on his part at least.

He noted at some point, his judgement clouded by Mitchell's face reflected in the mirror, that they were both somewhat mostly dressed. Pants and underwear were around their ankles and the shirts of both men were twisted and skewed, but Mitchell was still wearing his tie and Bradbury could hardly stop himself. He reached around and wrapped his wrist in the slim strip of red, yanking down and using it to hold Mitchell's cheek to the table.

"Fuck, Rick!" Mitchell yelped, trying to tug back and finding himself utterly immobile. He whimpered, hands now flat against the table surface, ass pressed back and up as Bradbury fucked him harder and with slightly more urgency.

"That's it... Bradbury grinned, slamming his free hand down against Mitchell's ass, his palm connecting with a satisfying thwack. "Come on, Mitch, go on a come like a good boy..."

That was the last straw, that was <i>always</i> the last straw and it came with an absolute hair trigger. Mitchell felt his entire body tighten and his vision began to cloud, his head swimming as the coil of pleasure that had been building at the base of his spine burst into wave after wave of almost to intense sensation.

"Fuck!" He arched back, almost choking himself on the tie. "Fuck...fuck fuck fuck <i>Daddy!</i>"

If Bradbury had been capable of stopping at the point, the shock would surely have been enough to cease all actions and just stand there, staring slack jawed. Of course, he was well past that point, and the only possible reaction left was to come, and come <i>hard</i>. He twisted his hand in Mitchell's hair and leaned forward as far as he could, growling and brutally pushing his hips up against Mitchell and the poor, abused table. There was a loud splintering sound that went mostly unnoticed, and Bradbury slumped forward against his employer, best friend, and occasional love of his life.

It was a good four minutes before either of them could think enough to move, and as usual Bradbury was the first to put in any kind of effort.

"Nn..." he groaned, not so much leaning back as <i>falling</i>, connecting with with the back of a chair and grasping at it, intent on staying on his feet...at least for now.

"Bed?"

Mitchell, on the other hand, practically melted to the ground as soon as Bradbury, the only thing holding him up, moved away. He collapsed and grinned, leaning back against the table with which he had become very intimate.

"You go ahead. Give me five minutes to set the alarms and take care of shit. I'm right behind you..."

Bradbury nodded, leaning down and pressing a firm kiss to Mitchell's forehead, ruffling his hair and stumbling in the general direction of the stairs. Once he was gone, Mitchell climbed shakily to his feet and made his way to the coffee table, opening a small compartment hidden beside a fake drawer.

Greenish-grey smoke plumed out, and Mitchell grinned.

"Plenty of other ways to kill the noise, baby..." he muttered, lifting a still-smoldering joint to his lips, finishing it with one drag and grinding it out, shutting the little compartment once again. He laughed to himself and retrieved his belt from on top of the sidebar, intent on following Bradbury to bed.

No.10292
>>10286

I kept finding irrelevant stuff and/or broken links... I'll look again, thanks

No.10294
>>10291

oh my fuck. tg, I am going to end up buying the entire series with nothing but this thread and your porn to go by. THANK YOU.

No.10296
>>10273
Okay, I just read it. Yeah. That was a goddamn awesome scene right there. I can't wait for the next issue!

No.10297
>>10294

Thanks! To whoever was proposing starting an LJ com - please do it. I will flood that place with porn.

No.10306
>>10285

Just search thepiratebay.org for Ex Machina and enjoy.

No.10309
http://community.livejournal.com/machinevoice/

Bring on the porn!
If anyone wants to make this fancier, let me know.

No.10339
File: 124550403146.gif-(43.45KB, 600x632, hundredvsvibe.gif)
10339
xposted.

No.10340
>>10339

Fucking love this. I imagine Mitchell's life away from the public eye is filled with too many moments like this one...

No.10346
File: 124553202251.gif-(61.89KB, 600x707, allanimals.gif)
10346
and some archenemy porns. xposted to http://community.livejournal.com/machinevoice/

No.10360
File: 124555873283.jpg-(367.07KB, 1024x1583, creepiest shit.jpg)
10360
last night I stayed up until 6 mainlining as much of this shit as possible- thanks a lot, /coq/, I'm sure I was real pleasant to work with. this page was what kept me going until I finished the storyline- spoilered because it is creepy as fuck, and not porn anyway.

but since I can only read so fast, I'm hoping someone here can answer something for me: do we ever get anything about Bradbury's wife? that goddamn ring is driving me crazy. nothing can stop me from shipping it, of course, but I'm curious just the same.

No.10362
Mwaha, welcome to the world of Ex Machina.

Let me have a look...so far, the only information we have is that her name is Tamara, she was a stripper and it looks like the relationship was shit from the start. She alludes to them having been married in (or just out, I would assume) of high school. At this point they are divorced with twin daughters, and you only really see her for two pages in issue #25, STANDALONE.

Also Baby!Bradbury. And his tattoos. His many, many tattooonnnggghsss....

Give me a few, and I'll see if I can find the pages

No.10363
>>10360

Okay, Bradbury picspam first post here -

http://community.livejournal.com/machinevoice/

Enjoy!

No.10526
So, I feel like writing something, but I don't have any inspiration. Can anyone give me any prompts or something they'd like to read?

No.10534
>>10526

Happy to oblige. How about Mitchell testing out his new abilities, with Rick's help? Can turn to porn if anon wishes.

No.10539
>>10526

another prompt, or one for someone else maybe: busy day mayor-type stress leading to office sex? for some reason I can totally picture Mitch as the type to get all re-energized after being thoroughly screwed.

No.10541
>>10539
I'm gonna try this one first, but I'll get to the other prompt in the semi-near future.

No.10649
my day was really bad, /coq/. you know what would make me feel lots better? Hundred porn. or fluff. or porny fluff. ..or content of any sort. anyone inclined to hook me up?

No.10651
>>10649

I'm sorry to hear that, hun. I hope this helps!


[unnamed and totally gratuitous porn]


Mitchell arched his back like a bow, fingernails scrapping bright pressure lines down over rows of thick, black tattoos.

"Fuck," Bradbury hissed, reaching forward and laying the side of his hand against the pillow. His fingers twisted into Mitchell's hair, forcing him to tilt his head back, to open his mouth and bare his neck.

"Easy..."

Mitchell whimpered and tried to shake his head, but Bradbury's fingers held fast. They tore at the roots and the pain spiraled down over luminous green scars, twisting into the muscle beneath.

Bradbury shunted his hips forward, the headboard of the bed slamming into the wall. It rattled and creaked like a drumbeat beneath Mitchell's steady moaning, his gasping and soft, gentle pained cries whenever the fingers tightened against his scalp.

"Please..." he gasped, lips parting just enough to force the word out, swollen beneath the indentations of his teeth. "Please...please...<i>Fuck!</i>"

His back snapped upwards for the second time and one leg locked around Bradbury's hips, yanking him forward and holding on, twitching and squeezing as he came. The lamp beside the bed exploded, and glowing beads rained down over the carpet beneath them. The sparks smoldered away and Bradbury, panting hard and sweating from his own orgasm, grinned.

"Gotta remember to turn that off..."

"Unghf." Mitchell replied.

No.10652
>>10651

tg, you are my favourite. you give such excellent porn! it makes my life brighter. thank you.

No.10673
Aww, that makes me really happy to hear. Glad to help!

No.10699
>>10541
Sorry this took forever, problems with my internet connection.
Anyways, you can read it here.

http://community.livejournal.com/machinevoice/3542.html#cutid1

No.12008
What's this third page crap? I CANNOT STAND FOR THIS.

http://community.livejournal.com/machinevoice/4771.html#cutid1

No.12018
New DC Kink Meme:

http://community.livejournal.com/dc_kink/

No.12680
All I can offer right now is a buuuump. Popped by the library today and to my surprise and delight, they had a few volumes of Ex Machina there, which I promptly devoured. Good GOD this series is awesome. And I don't even like political stuff that much.

But yeah. Woooo, Mitch!

No.12729
>>12680

Oh I am way too happy that you like it. It's SO good, and so engrossing.

No.12734
I've been trying to get a fic finished before it gets jossed all to hell next week but have ended up stalled. sadface abounds. I'll keep tryin' kids! anyone got any spare inspiration around?

speaking of inspiring, Tim are you going to art for us now that you are here y/y???

No.12959
File: 125049977122.png-(339.35KB, 525x750, Tie fetish.png)
12959
>>12734
Maaaaaybe? e_e

This just in: Coffee+Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" is a pretty effective cure for art block.

No.12968
>>12959
OMG YEAH!
I loves it.

No.13057
>>12959

Yessssss.

This thread got me into Ex Machina after having drifted obliviously by it. It was pretty awesome, but I WANT MORE.

No.13376
File: 125089588556.jpg-(316.39KB, 600x669, MitchBradbury 01.jpg)
13376
I'll just leave this here, then.

No.19860
Bumping.

No.19898
We need more content. As a substition, have a blog that acknowledges our favorite ambiguous boxer of priests: http://queersupe.com/a-z-lbgt-comic-book-character-superlist/

No.19909
You know what this thread needs? More electric play.

There were days when Mitchell was glad he lived in the bad part of town. It was the days when he couldn't crawl out of bed, when the side of his face still throbbed under the bandages and the world was blurred through his one good eye. For some sick reason, those were the days when he was also horny as hell, like the accident had hit some switch in his brain that led to the discovery that he was a late bloomer masochist.

He felt like he was sleepwalking when he went out, slouching under his coat with the collar flipped up to minimize the staring. He knew he looked like a freaky pervert buying it, that he was going to sneak back to his apartment with his electrical play toys and maybe make creepy dolls of people. He tried to be a casual on the subway as much as possible, but the white bandages stuck out against his dark hair. People never looked directly, rather glanced out of the corner of their eyes. Occasionally, he would overhear one of them mentioning him on the cell phones and be tempted to twist the machine into doing nothing but playing annoying music in the middle of the night. When he got home there were bangs coming from upstairs and yelling down on the streets. Nobody would notice any noise he made at all.

The idea had come to him in his dreams. They showed him sleek city streets paved with steal, chrome building glistening in the sun. He seemed to float above the city and suddenly see so clearly where all the problems were, how every little inch of all of New York was his to do with however he felt fit. There were plans, schematic designs blue and white and circuitry lit up in green. All this would come to him but then the dreams would twist, to the happy citizens or the scheming monsters or sometimes the circuitry itself lifted him up and wrapped around him like a lover, wanting to share itself with cold lightning. He also woke up with a jolt, like being pierced by lightning.

He remembered what the demon had said on Halloween night, "If you build it, you will come." Mitchell wasn't quite ready to risk his genitals on homemade electrical toys so with his blinds closed he got to work unpacking the nondescript boxes from the plain brown bags that looked even guiltier than if they had been labeled "deviant sex." The mechanics of assembly were completely lacking in any sort of eroticism. Electrode, low profile connection, slot a, tab b, power box, and wires. Batteries, lube, and a deep breath while sliding the silicon ring onto his cock. His hands were shaking as he hooked up the leads. He could hear the power barely restrained, waiting to lash out a grab him.

Mitchell laid back on his bed, gripping the covers and trying to steady his breathing. He was in control here. It wasn't like the screaming still filtering in from the roof and floor and windows and doors, this was a voice that answered to him. He reached down and tentatively stroked his erection. Even his delicate touch felt like too much, for weeks he hadn't had enough control to do anything but rub off against pillows and couches and anything he could get in a machine fueled daze.

Still holding himself steady, he braced himself and finally spoke. Starting with the lowest buzzing shock was only enough to tease but turning it up pulled a primal scream out of him. There were flashes of green behind his eyes as waves of power caressed him, shaking his legs and hips. His heart was racing and it felt like his orgasm was lasting forever and it was fucking time this freakish thing was worth a damn.

He came to with a raw throat at a pounding on his front door. Someone was shouting through it for him to shut the fuck up he was too tired to care. Anyway, his screaming had apparently knocked out all the electricity in the building. He fumbled himself free of the wires and covers that were chafing his oversensitive skin to curl on his side and fall in a blessed, silent sleep.

No.19925
>his screaming had apparently knocked out all the electricity in the building.
ffffffYES I fucking love that, and I love this fandom for coming up with things like that, damn. hey anon you are pretty alright my friend

a quick poll since we're talking content: I started something before 44 came out which (inevitably) got jossed so hard it is ridiculous. would there be interest in such a thing anyway, or should I just try to salvage the non-plot bits into something that will be less confusingly wrong in relation to canon?

No.19931
File: 125693734088.jpg-(370.72KB, 1024x1595, Ex Machina #23 pg22.jpg)
19931
>>19925
When canon gives you this you just gotta run with it.

>a quick poll since we're talking content:
It depends on how far you are along. If it's enough to stand right now, post it. There's no rule that says you can't cannibalize parts for a better story later.

No.19955
>>19925
I think that this fandom is so lacking in content that anything anyone posts will be welcome. I'd be happy to read whatever you got.

No.29985
rescue bump, too much good shit in here to lose this thread

No.30005
>>29985

I am so afraid for the end of this comic >< Only....two to go, right?

No.30013
>>30005

Four. The next is due out on the 10th.

No.35181
B-b-bamp

No.35187
I live in constant fear of the end of this comic.

No.48348
rescue bump since the end is nigh

what do you think, guys? will we ever get answers or is "tell Bradbury I loved him" as good as it gets?

No.54073
Issue 50 comes out tomorrow. What sort of end are we hoping for?

No.54184
File: 12821568459.png-(845.33KB, 834x1216, exmachina.png)
54184
Spoilers for #50 (sorry for crappy phone pics)

Not that surprising but kinda sad :C The issue was kinda... bittersweet I guess

No.54210
I finally got around to reading this and my god, if this comic were a person I would have sex with it.

what i am trying to say is: prompts? especially for art?

No.54230
File: 128218538962.jpg-(682.45KB, 580x900, scan0002.jpg)
54230
>>54184

Better upload for anyone who wants it

No.54238
>>54210
omfg i'm so glad you're here! art prompt: BRADBURY AND MITCHELL MAKEOUTS PLEASE FOREVER PLEASE?


srsly you guys
you guys
srsly
:<


No.54259
File: 128219815981.jpg-(239.31KB, 900x800, cameras-off.jpg)
54259
>>54238
be gentle, it's my first time

No.54280
BKV, you total assbasket.

No.54320
File: 128226680150.jpg-(161.37KB, 700x534, harder.jpg)
54320
goddamn, i am torn between desperately wanting to read #50 and the fact that it sounds like it's going to be painful.

No.54329
I've been tearing apart the internet looking for a link to 50 as I am broke, but it seems none exists.

</wrist>

No.54344
>>54230
OH, HOLY MOTHERFUCKER! Can I let you all on a little secret? I'm the OP. After a while I sort of forgot about this comic (I will live in shame forever), but that panel right there has re-ignited a burning LIKE NEVER BEFORE.

You guys are true heroes today.

No.54391
Scans are up, so here is Bradbury's entire part from 50.

No.54392
File: 128231310918.jpg-(441.33KB, 1280x1940, ExMachina50-028.jpg)
54392
>>54391
page one

No.54393
File: 128231315523.jpg-(506.60KB, 1280x1940, ExMachina50-029.jpg)
54393
page two

No.54394
File: 12823131903.jpg-(520.12KB, 1280x1939, ExMachina50-030.jpg)
54394
page three

No.54395
File: 128231325088.jpg-(466.23KB, 1280x1938, ExMachina50-031.jpg)
54395
page four

No.54396
File: 128231328413.jpg-(462.37KB, 1280x1935, ExMachina50-032.jpg)
54396
page five

No.54397
File: 128231334454.jpg-(412.96KB, 1280x1935, ExMachina50-033.jpg)
54397
and page six. Feel free to write fic that fixes this now.

No.54429
Holy shit.

I just read #50 and...I don't know.
I don't know.

I kinda wish I could unread it but, it makes sense. Just...I don't know. :C

No.54471
>>54397
lol forever at the fact that I stopped reading comics for the better part of the decade and ex machina is JUST NOW finishing up, bawww forever at this

No.54667
Bradbury nooooo :(

Well that was a terrible way to get confirmation.

No.54775
my first thought on reading #50:

what are you doing! what, what, what are you doing

Mitchell Hundred, you stupid bitch.


so tempted to write it oh god help help

No.54778
>>54775
Doooo eeeet.

No.54805
>>54775
You've GOT to!

No.54811
>>54775
DO IT FAGGOT

No.56367
Is there any Mitchell/Kremlin? I want.



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