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The first real disagreement’s about where to put it. Wylan suggests breaking into Kaz’s secret new house near the Geldstraat and just pretending it was always there. Next, Wylan suggests buying a whole new house just for it, but Jesper hasn’t been rich long enough yet to even be able to think of just buying houses, and anyway, whatever Wy says, however well he’s arguing the point that Jesper’s plan may be a bit weird (‘So fucking weird, dearest,’ Wy was muttering last night in bed. ‘I know you’re looking out for him, but even you have to admit that telling you best friend Kaz that you’re keeping, in a newly dedicated room inside our house, where we live but he doesn’t, the newly invented sex machine that you built specifically for him…’)—
Fine. But the point is, though, that the house is safe. Kaz feels safe here. He picks the window lock to the guest room when he’s alright, and the front door when he’s bleeding out. Jesper would bet actual money—not that he’s still betting, definitely not, okay, he promises—and there wouldn’t be a way to resolve the bet anyway because Kaz the squirrelly bastard would never admit it, but Jesper’s pretty sure that his and Wylan’s house is where Kaz feels safest in Ketterdam, not the Slat, not the empty Geldstraat property, not the Crow Club or the Silver Six but Jesper and Wylan’s home. Kaz’s home, if he asked, but that’s not something Kaz Dirtyhands Brekker, King of the Barrel, can bring himself do. Not yet, maybe never, and Jesper doesn’t care as long as Kaz still visits.
He didn’t build the sex machine to convince Kaz to move in with them. Honestly.
There’s no plotting involved at all. Plots are Kaz’s thing. Jesper is just problem-solving. Problems like, Kaz is always tense, to the point he even mentioned his knotted-up back out loud, and Kaz never talks about pain. Sex relieves tension. Jesper can personally attest to that. But then there’s another problem, the skin thing, and even if Kaz felt comfortable touching sweaty human flesh, he’s the secret criminal overlord of Ketterdam and there are at least fifteen bounties on his head. He’s right not to trust anyone. Inej is at sea. Jesper is—never mind, he got rejected and that’s fine, but that makes sex with any partner pretty hard to coordinate and Kaz is definitely the kind of guy who’ll jerk off ‘efficiently’, a complete Kerch idiot. Wylan flicked Jesper in the nipple for that part of his explanation as to why he built Kaz Brekker a dildo with an attached motor, but it’s true. There’s nothing more Kerch than counting the strokes until you nut. Every stroke takes time in which you could be earning money instead, after all. Okay, so maybe Wylan was actually mocking him for putting more thought into Kaz’s sex life than Kaz does, but whatever, Jesper’s just an incredibly good friend. If Kaz dies of hypertension or blue balls then he can’t secretly murder every mercher or crook who’s targeting Wylan while insisting it’s all a by-product of some grand scheme or other, so technically, building him a sex partner that will not try to kill him and has zero wet human skin is very self-interested of Jesper.
The sex machine works. Jesper tested it on himself, obviously, while trying to guess Kaz’s preferences—guess them honestly this time, and not mingled with what a horny younger Jesper would have liked his crush’s preferences to be in the context of yet another fantasy. Jesper put everything he had into getting it right. He asked Wylan too, because Wylan’s good at understanding people, even Kaz. Wylan, obviously, mocked him again for being overly invested in his best friend’s pleasure but since Wylan then shared his own detailed observations and opinions—“Pull his hair, but how are you automating that?”—well, Jesper’s not worried about destroying his marriage over his preoccupation with his best friend’s state of relaxation and therefore the quality of his orgasms. That’s just what best friends do, right?
And then, Kaz.
Because if he doesn’t like it, the whole endeavour’s for naught, and obviously Jesper enjoys wasting thousands of hours on inventing new machines, he’s a trophy husband and secretary nowadays, he’s so fucking bored every time that Wylan’s busy but he’s not going to be that guy clinging to his husband all hours of the day, and he’s not going to cling to Kaz, either, except Kaz sounded kind of relieved (though trying to hide it, because he’s Kaz) when Jesper offered to help him set up the machine and to stay and take notes. About how to improve this prototype. Because Kaz deserves only the best, obviously, and not for any selfish reasons on Jesper’s side, because he's only being a good best friend here. Though he hasn’t called himself Kaz’s best friend out loud yet. If Kaz told him that actually he likes Anika more, Jesper would die of jealousy, and he can’t take the risk of widowing Wylan when he’s barely in his twenties. That would be selfish. And Jesper’s not selfish. He just built a sex machine for the man he’s had an unrequited crush on for the past seven years and now he’s going to watch him use it and—
Fuck. He just wants to watch, doesn’t he. This was selfish.
But Kaz is already in the ex-first floor office. He’s looking at the machine. It’s a gorgeous piece of work, though not on par with Jesper’s pearl-handled revolvers—he’s not quite achieved that level of craftmanship yet, though he even spent time carving blessings in Zemeni into the legs of the bench-bed, nothing fancy, just promises to watch over Kaz as a best friend and hopes for him to feel safe, plus a few little crows, and then he filled in the marks with gold he smelted himself in Wylan’s basement laboratory. There are adjustable handlebars, two sets, and one set of footholds should Kaz wish to use those, the grips covered with polished and oiled teak wood for some variety in tactile experience. The bench’s upholstered with leather but Jesper laid a padded duvet over that to combine comfort and ease of cleaning, plus a few movable pillows because he’s not sure whether Kaz would prefer laying on his back or stomach. Either works well, Jesper tested it extensively. And washed the duvet afterwards.
The bench's designed for comfort. The real innovation is the sturdy machine beside it, a steam-powered engine, height-adjustable and on wheels so it can be moved towards the bench before setting the brakes, and jutting out proudly from the engine, a cock.
“It’s rubber,” Jesper says proudly. “Hand-modelled,” on my own dick he doesn’t say because that would be weird, “from hardened tree sap that one of Wy’s companies has recently started importing. It’s soft, but not really like skin, just feel it.”
Kaz does. He takes off his gloves, too, bare white hands on the rubber cock that looks like Jesper’s and that he’s going get fucked with—that he’s going to use to release some tension, Jesper reminds himself, desperately wishing he’d worn a kilt instead today because even just watching Kaz touch that cock and then walking around and running his bare nimble fingers all over the metal that Jesper’s been working for the past five months almost non-stop because he was so obsessed with the idea he could give something back finally to his bestest best friend forever… Kaz is inspecting the gears of the sex machine very seriously and muttering to himself, “So, almost like a lock,” and Jesper’s almost combusting from—from general friendly fondness, okay, though then he turns around for a second and tucks his raging erection into his waistband.
“Wylan insisted on rubber,” Jesper says once he’s slightly more presentable. Kaz is unbuttoning his shirt. Jesper needs something to say so he doesn’t just stare. Or maybe Kaz needs help with his boots? He probably does, right, and then Jesper will be—fuck, he needs something normal to talk about. “The first five prototypes were metal. I liked them a lot, but when Wy tried he said metal felt odd.”
“Uh,” Kaz says, ears red. Jesper kneels before him and starts unlacing his boots. Everything’s normal. Jesper also pulls down his trousers and his drawers. Everything’s totally normal. Kaz steps out of his clothes. Jesper stays down there for a second, eye-level with Kaz’s cute fat flushed half-hard cock. This is the normallest thing he’s ever done.
Kaz walks over to sit on the bench, stark-naked except for his socks. Fuck.
Well. Too late, he’s meant to have a good brain that focuses now and can’t really admit he forgot the existence of socks, let alone forgot it while ogling his best friend’s genitals. Also, wanting to see Kaz’s naked feet for this would just be weird. He can keep his socks. Unless Jesper’s accidentally teaching him now that it’s normal to keep on your socks for—relaxation.
“First you have to relax your asshole,” says Jesper intelligently and without stumbling over any syllables, even though he’s about to watch Kaz finger himself. He’s such an incredibly good friend. He passes over the oil flask.
Kaz lies down, left foot up on the bench, right dangling down, cock flopped up towards his bellybutton and then he slicks up the fingers of his right hand. It could be an awkward position, but Jesper—no, trying to correct him would be a dick move, right, and anyway, Kaz manages to worm his index finger inside quickly enough. Maybe too quickly.
“Relax. Take your time. I never have anywhere to be nowadays, and I hope you cleared your schedule too.”
The look Kaz shoots him from down on the sex machine bench, half-sitting up, right arm between his legs and his already-wet cock’s touching the crow and cup on his forearm, rubbing up and down, leaving a tiny smear of slime as Kaz pushes his index finger in, out a bit, in, it’s… Fucking hell. Kaz looks annoyed, no—not annoyed, focused, eager. Like he doesn’t want Jesper to slow him down. Like he can’t believe that for the first time in their lives, Jesper’s the slow one.
But Jesper’s also the one with actual experience taking it up the ass.
“Only add the middle finger when one’s easy. Prepping takes—”
“I’ve done this before,” says Kaz, and—and—but—and—what—but why the machine then and—but—why didn’t Jesper know this about Kaz—what—why—how—and— “Two fingers anyway. I have masturbated, you know. Just wasn’t that interesting.”
Jesper would beg to differ. Jesper would beg to watch. Jesper would—behave completely normally and say, “Just do what you did back then, only with your ring finger added next, et cetera, and then try this old prototype cock, just to make sure you’re stretched before I get the machine pounding.”
“You really have thought of everything,” Kaz says, still scissoring the fingers in his asshole and so what should’ve sounded mocking is just breathless.
“I promised you’d be fine. You can lie on your back, by the way, to get—relaxed, or your front. Either works fine. Either can feel vulnerable. Looking into your partner’s eyes or not being able to see—but this is just a machine, and I’ll watch over you the entire time. You’re safe.”
“The front, then,” Kaz says. “That’s how I usually…”
“You tried that trick, didn’t you, the one that was the talk of town five years ago? Where you cut a hole into your mattress?”
Kaz flushes bright red. Even his chest’s a mess of pink and white scars, and he looks away, too. He’s naked pushing four well-oiled fingers into his asshole, and now he’s embarrassed. Jesper loves him so much he might die.
“I haven’t cut a hole in this bench. I could, if you want one. And line it with rubber, of course, for comfort—but removable so I can clean it, and then you can take it home, too, wait—” Jesper finds his notebook on the windowsill. The shutters are closed, of course, and he might have left the notebook there while he checked them but it’s good he found it now, because he needs the notebook for his observations and Kaz's feedback. This is just a prototype relaxation machine, and it’ll need a lot of adjustments to be completely and utterly perfect for Kaz. And Kaz deserves more than perfect. He’s Jesper’s best friend on the entire planet.
“I don’t need a hole,” Kaz mumbles into the duvet.
“Just try it, you might like it. Once I’ve made it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Anyway, drool into the pillow, jizz onto the duvet, it’s fine, I’m going to wash it. But scooch back so your ass is level with the bench, that got me any Wy the best results.”
Kaz makes an unidentifiable sound into the pillow. He takes the loose dildo fine, though, so Jesper asks for it and then tosses it into a to-be-cleaned basket near the door. It makes a squelchy rubber sound when it lands. Jesper shouldn’t find that erotic, even if the squelch’s from just having been inside Kaz Brekker’s well-lubed asshole.
“I’m canting the bench a little so your ass is up, that’s also worked well in testing. Deeper thrusts, you know, Wylan wanted me to almost fold him over though he was hanging onto the footholds in a way that might not be comfortable to you. I’m just doing a gentle tilt first, okay?”
“Okay,” Kaz tells the pillow. If he wasn’t the strongest person Jesper knows, this might be worrying. It’s Kaz, though.
But also, it’s Kaz, and Jesper loves him so much, he couldn’t bear hurting him on accident. He’s so hard already, but he couldn’t… “You can stop anytime. Or pause. I won’t be mad and—”
“I know you won’t,” Kaz groans. His dark eyes are like a shelter in a snowstorm. He’s finally looked up. “But if you want to test whether this machine can fuck me to orgasm, you’d better shut up about the various ways you and Wylan tested it.”
Ouch. Point taken.
“I’m going to set up the machine now. Aim it right and so on,” and Jesper knows every screw and every nut in this machine, so it’s easy to help the adjustment along with his mind. The fake cock just barely pushes beyond the rim of Kaz’s ass for now. Once it gets going, he’ll readjust the angle to hit his prostate, and— “There’s only one setting for now, thrusts increasing in speed and depth. I’ll make it modular if it’s good, though, adjustable, new humping patterns. Any feedback’s useful for making the next version better for you, so be vocal—” fuck, Jesper wants to hear Kaz get railed— “and be frank.”
“Stop stalling.”
He’s right, of course, again. Jesper’s poured his heart into this machine for five months, but Jesper was just bored of being a trophy husband with no need to work and no permission to gamble, so what does it matter, anyway, and he made it for Kaz so he should just. Right. The coal fire for the steam engine’s been burning since before Kaz rang the bell, and now all that’s left is flipping a lever and—
With a full-machine shudder and a barely audible creak, the cock pushes into Kaz.
Or maybe the shudder’s all Jesper, and the creak’s from his house shoes when he almost falls over despite standing still. Because it’s a fucking sight to behold: the messy hair on the fluffy pillow Kaz is hiding his face in, hands white-knuckled clutching the fabric, and the planes of his pale, muscular, scarred back, round ass canted upwards and his legs just hang off both sides of the bench, completely ignoring the footholds that Jesper hand-carved. His ass. Kaz is made of wiry, strong muscle and his ass would be so firm if Jesper ever grabbed it, which he won’t. Kaz is all power and control, though in terms of size he’s dwarfed by Jesper’s machine. The burn chamber’s probably way too big and filled with too much coal for a single fuck, no matter how hard and brutal it’s set, and it’s not. Jesper made it start gentle. The rubber-sculpted cock pulls almost entirely out of Kaz and then it thrusts back into his asshole with a loud squelch. Jesper over-lubed the dildo, and Kaz oiled his asshole generously. The slick movement must feel amazing. Not even the pillow completely muffles Kaz’s moan.
Out, in. Out, in. Jesper readjusts his own cock underneath his waistband. It doesn’t help.
Out, in. Jesper has incredible vision—he’s a sharpshooter, after all, retired sort of but that doesn’t mean he just loses his skills and—and if he walks a little closer and tilts his head, he can see the pink rim of Kaz’s hole stretched around the dildo and pulled and pushed with the machine’s movement. He squeezes his erection to calm it down. It doesn’t work.
“How—slow-uhnnn…” Half of Kaz’s red face emerges from the pillow. “Cannnn…”
Jesper stops the machine with his mind.
“Fuck!” Kaz shouts.
“Are you—Kaz, do you need to stop, I can—”
“Don’t stop.” A groan. Kaz shimmies backwards, pushing himself onto the dildo—he does use the food rests now—and fuck, fuck—
Jesper releases the machine. Or maybe his control just breaks because seeing Kaz Brekker desperately chase that rubber cock is just—
“Make it—faster. Bigger,” Kaz breathlessly begs. Kaz begs. Kaz is begging. He never begs, he just demands, and this is—fuck, Jesper didn’t build this thing with manual speed control, the whole series of hump cycles is mechanically controlled, and so he—but Jesper knows every nut and every screw in his sex machine inside out, as well as he knows his guns, he made this, and it’s nothing to dissolve himself into the pistons and valves and chambers and craftshanks and levers and that rubber dildo he sculpted after his own cock, too; every metal atom warms with his care and his affection and then he takes control. The mechanical thrusts were slow, grinding, but Kaz wants to be fucked into the mattress. And what Kaz wants, he’ll get.
There are no hands for Jesper to hold him with, no mouth with which to kiss his ass cheeks. He has eyes, somewhere else, that greedily take in the rivulets of sweat running down Kaz’s back. His balls draw up, somewhere else, the waistband hurts his burning neglected erection and then he jizzes into his trousers and shirts. Somewhere else.
Here, Jesper is metal and rubber, speeding up.
The cock pistons into Kaz, then goes slow and deep, deep, deep, fast again, responding to the mewls Kaz can’t drown in his pillow. Kaz and Jesper don’t need words to act in tandem, whether they’re fighting together or running a scam, or, apparently, fucking. Jesper vibrates the rubber dick while he pushes it as deeply into Kaz as it will go—here's an idea, maybe even a freestanding tremble dick with a windup mechanism—and Kaz sobs.
Obviously, Jesper does it again.
And again.
The sheer force of the machine’s thrusts would have pushed Kaz off the bench by now if he wasn’t holding on to the handlebars. He found them. He’s using them. Jesper spend an entire evening with his head in Wylan’s lap carving the handles.
“Good boy,” Jesper says, at the entire situation, even though his mouth is still somewhere else, and Kaz—
Kaz screams.
Kaz—and Jesper’s feels it because he expanded his mind into the duvet, he realizes—Kaz spills his cum into the embroidered linen cover (more blessings in Zemeni) and the duvet top and the down feathers.
It feels odd, to retract his consciousness to his body after that. The jizz has cooled on his skin and shirt. The machine’s thrusting slowly, and he shuts it off. He came a while ago, even though at the time he was somewhere else and barely felt it, and now he has time to observe. Time to evaluate the success of his invention.
Kaz is still gasping into the pillow, his hair messed up and sweaty. He doesn’t look sad. He doesn’t look particularly relaxed either, but that’ll come later anyway, and the physical exertion of good sex shows in the way his wet skin shines. His ass is still up—obviously it is, the bench’s canted upwards, and Jesper levels it with a thought—and the puckered ring of his asshole is pink with blood flow but not bloody. Not hurt. It’s Jesper’s job to look for signs of hurt. He designed this machine, and he talked Kaz into using it, so it’s his job, but Kaz seems fine, just sweaty.
“Towel?” Jesper asks, because ‘did you like the way I fucked you?’ seems crass.
“Thanks,” mumbled into the pillow.
Jesper uses the extra rough, old towels he bribed Wylan’s housekeeper to sell him to towel Kaz off, just because it seems like that’s the kind Kaz uses. He hasn’t managed to ask Kaz yet whether he uses them because he likes the texture or because he’s fucking stingy. Or both. They’re not even in a relationship, so it’s hard to figure out the appropriateness of that kind of question. Jesper’s still not a hundred percent sure whether Wy actually likes the crockery they use every Sunday breakfast or whether Wylan just doesn’t know yet that he has a choice. Jesper’s adjusting well to being a mercher’s trophy husband, he’s always thought, but sometimes… But it doesn’t matter much. Crockery, towels, fuck machines… they’re all just things. Wylan and Jesper and Kaz are people. They’re friends. They love each other. Nothing else matters.
“You coming again soon?” Jesper asks.
Kaz is still sprawled on the fuck bench. He looks relaxed. He looks tired. “Tomorrow.”
“You said, bigger. I can’t make a new cock that fast.”
The look Kaz shoots him, barely raising his head off the pillow, is fond but deeply condescending, as if Jesper missed the obvious.
Which Jesper didn’t. He’s totally aware of what he’s doing. He created a machine to fuck his extramarital crush who’s also his best fried, fine, guilty! Since neither Wylan nor Kaz seem to hate him, Jesper refuses to care. “To make a new dildo for my machine, I need a model. If it was just my dick again, it would be boring.” He grins. This is a joke, not an insult. “But there’s someone who’s a perfect candidate for this fuck device. I’d need a good look but that’s… You’ve pissed off quite—hey Kaz, what do you think about the idea you’re going to fuck yourself?”