Friendly Affairs part 1

	A guard sat alone in his dimly lit office at the far side of an aging building in the middle of a fading town. Its halls were drafty and its paint cracking, and at least one of its front windows had been shattered and permanently boarded-up; but the job still payed and the work was interesting, so the guard did his best not to worry too much about any of that. Whatever problems the business faced were usually too far above his paygrade to waste the effort stressing over; unless, of course, those problems happened to affect him.
	Such was the case tonight: as his ancient, outdated monitor system began to malfunction; leaving him with only flickers and flashes of heavily distorted images captured throughout the web of security cameras he was there to observe. Problems like this weren’t exactly uncommon, and the solutions were usually as simple as messing with a few wires until things fixed themselves, but as the guard ducked beneath his desk and began poking at hardware he didn’t fully understand, an unseen figure began to stalk him amidst the inky shadows of the restaurant’s dimly lit halls.
	Barely captured in fleeting stills on his neglected screen, the inhuman assailant approached his office with silence and care. Its cautions footsteps and subtle mechanical whirs barely registered to the unassuming guard, until the massive figure loomed just behind him, and reached out with a cold mechanical hand.
	“Ahh! Jesus Christ!” he jumped to his feet after a tap on the shoulder; hitting his head on the bottom of his desk in a mad scramble up and away from whatever it was that had snuck up behind him.
	With his heart racing and adrenaline surging through his veins, the guard turned to face his harasser, and was greeted by the sight of a tall yellow robot.
	The machine –though humanoid- was avian in theme, and possessed a pair of massive, three-fingered wings in lieu of conventional hands; one of which was currently recoiling after having successfully captured his attention. Accompanying them were a matching set of bright orange legs, complete with pointed talons jutting from its clawed toes, along with a spread of wilting feather-like protrusions extended from just above its rear.
	Its surface was smooth and rubbury, and would have appeared almost akin to skin, were it not for the tightly fitting assortment of seams and ball-sockets adorning its various joints and bend-points. The only area completely devoid of this synthetic dermis was its neck, which appeared to be nothing more than a simple gray tube; around which hung a loosely fitting off-white bandana.
	Like its body, the robot’s head was garnished with bird-like accruments. Stylized feather-tufted cheeks and a pair of large, molded yellow locks jutting from its otherwise barren scalp framed its face, which itself was dominated by two wide, glassy eyes; ringed with strips of dark liner that expanded into a set of pointed black lashes on the outer edges of each socket. Its dim violet irises glowed softly around camera pupils, and betrayed the machine’s factitious nature with an almost human level of expression. This sense of life was further emphasized by its malleable beak, colored in the same bright orange as its legs; which currently wore what could only be described as a blithe -or perhaps more pointedly: shit-eating- grin, as the robot watched its unsuspecting pray fumble and recover from their sudden jolt.
	“Ahahahah! The look on your face,” Chica erupted into a full-on belly laugh as the guard breathed a sigh of relief and shifted from terror to agitation.
	“Not cool!” he growled; rubbing the sore spot on his head and finding the beginnings of a small bruise. “I could have gotten hurt, you know.”
	“Oh please, if all it takes to put you out of commission is a finger on your shoulder, you probably shouldn’t be working this kind of job in the first place,” the robot shot back gingerly; calming down from the initial thrill of her little prank before turning her gaze to his alleged injury. “It’s just a little bump. Didn’t even break the skin. But, I can kiss it and make it better if you like,” she teased.
	The guard grumbled and rolled his eyes before glancing back to his computer monitor. Whatever he had done below his desk had seemingly fixed the issue, and with decided indifference toward his mischievous companion, he took a seat and began scanning the screen. Not one to be denied, Chica positioned herself behind his chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulder; playfully kissing his bruise with the tip of her beak before resting her chin atop his scalp and staring at the screen along with him.
	“I’m sorry I spooked you, Mike,” she said in a noticeably more earnest tone; prompting him to let out a heavy sigh before closing his eyes and sinking back into his seat. The feeling of her arms slung over his shoulders and the weight of her head atop his was strangely calming, and the guard found himself no longer willing to be annoyed over what was ultimately nothing more than some harmless fun.
	“It’s fine, no damage done,” he relented; though not before taking issue with another of her actions. “I keep telling you to stop calling me Mike though. Just ‘cause it’s stitched into my work-shirt doesn’t mean it’s actually my name.”
	“Mmmm, but it’s a nice name,” Chica replied while hugging him a little tighter. “Besides, you can’t expect me to take your word over a shirt. Over all of your shirts, actually.”
	“They were a dollar ninety-nine each and fit me perfectly,” he protested. “Who am I to pass up a deal like that?”
	“Someone named Mike. Obviously.”
	The guard –Mike- groaned aloud; an action his companion no doubt derived an immense amount of pleasure from. He had known her far too long to ever consider the possibility of winning this argument; but then again, that was Chica in a nutshell: outgoing, passionate, and utterly stubborn over the dumbest little things.
	While he wasn’t entirely sure how old she was, or how many of those years she had spent in operation, Mike could easily picture a long and prestigious line of employees before him all begrudgingly putting up with the same kind of ironic goading that he endured nearly every night. Maybe it was just a quirk of her long service life -he didn’t know- but sometimes it could drive him nearly insane.
	“So, did you just stop by to startle me and tell me my name is wrong, or…?”
	“Well not JUST that,” she giggled. “I was actually going to see if you wanted anything from the kitchen. I know you’ve been coming in hungry for the past few days.”
	“Not at the moment,” he quickly replied; before actually thinking to offer over for more than a second. “Though I wouldn’t mind some coffee right now.”
	“I can do that!” Chica eagerly perked up at the task. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll get a pot up and going.”
	“It doesn’t have to be right this…” Mike trailed off as his companion gave him another quick peck on the head and disappeared out the door. “Instant.” He finished the sentence for no one but himself, before slowly turning back to his computer.
	Watching her make her way towards the kitchen, Mike admitted to himself that he could sometimes give Chica a bad rap. For every little snipe or practical joke, there were twice as many moments of genuine affection or a willingness to go out of her way for him. Sure, the name thing could be annoying, but it wasn’t even like she was the only one perpetuating it. If anything, it was all just part of the experience working here.

	Freddy Fazbear’s was a franchise steeped in controversy and shady history. Its loose management and checkered safety record had been the stuff of urban-legends since he was a kid. But he couldn’t deny the appeal surrounding it as well. There was something charming about the name and the cast of colorful characters that came with it, and throughout all of its rocky history and fading limelight, its legacy had endured in one form or another; always clinging to life and muddling through to see tomorrow.
	His particular franchise was no exception to that. The building itself was just barely holding together from years of mistreatment and neglect; the food was only ever adequate, but budgeted well, and always good enough to keep people pleased; and the robots –what few they had- were all secondhand refurbishments from older, less fortunate buildings; upgraded and abused and upgraded again until taking on an air of both modern and old. It was a testament to their collective stubbornness that this particular location didn’t even have a Freddy model in stock; instead getting by on the branding alone and making due with an odd assortment of side characters in lieu of a real star.
	As Mike shifted his attention away from Chica, he randomly flicked his camera over to their resident musician, and the closest thing they had to a face for the building.
	Sitting on her stage and stringing a surprisingly well kept electric guitar was a bright and cheery Spring Bonnie. A little shorter and a little rounder than her avian counterpart, between her sweat nature and doughy figure, she came off less as a robot rock-star, and more as a life sized plush toy. With her costly and complicated Springsuit function having been made redundant and subsequently removed years ago, for all intents and purposes she was just another bunny bot. Yet Spring still clung to the title like a point of pride, and made it a point to remind anyone who asked to refer to her as such, instead of the far more common Bonnie moniker. Much like her instruments, Spring’s brash and eye-catching golden hue was immaculately well preserved in spite of her drab surroundings, and as with her name, Mike got the impression that that had more to do with differentiating herself amongst a lineage of barely distinct variants, as opposed to simple personal vanity.
	Shuffling through his feeds again, Mike stopped as he spotted the third and final bot that called this place home: a cool and disarming Toy Foxy.
	With her plasticy pink and white exterior and a long and lively tail accentuating her unmistakably curvy profile, Miss Foxy, as she preferred to be called, carried herself with far more feminine grace than her other two companions. Often acting as the voice of reason whenever conflict arose, she came off as older than the other two robots he worked with; though both of them were always quick to correct him in that matter. Regardless, Foxy’s matured attitude and caring nature made her an absolute hit with the younger, less rambunctious children that visited the building throughout the day; a role which she clearly enjoyed, as Mike watched her organize and hang the latest collection of crudely colored pictures that had been drawn for her.
	Indeed, it was an odd setup he found himself mixed up in: A Freddy’s with no Freddy, located in a depreciating part of town, still making an effort to entertain anyone that walked through its doors to the best of its ever diminishing ability. There was a grim sense of inevitability to it all -like they were all working on borrowed time until entropy took its course- but Mike wasn’t interested in that kind of thought right now. In fact, he wasn’t interested in it at all, and usually did everything in his power to avoid the subject as much as he could.
	At the moment, that meant getting up out of his office and doing a bit of patrolling in person. After all, there were plenty of cracks and corners to the building that the cameras just couldn’t see, and he had an obligation to check them all out and make sure his workplace remained secure. And if he just so happened to get caught up in a conversation with Foxy or stay a while to listen to Spring practice her chords, well that was just him building bonds between fellow Fazbear team members.
	Besides, he wanted to see what Chica was up to. She had been gone for more than enough time to make some coffee, and it wasn’t like her to just drop something after showing so much enthusiasm; so after a bit of token investigating and a few passing words with Spring, Mike found himself approaching the building’s kitchen, curious to see what exactly was waiting for him inside.

	As he cracked the door and glanced around, the snooping guard was instantly delighted with the sight that greeted him. Bent down on her hands and knees beneath a food-prep table, he had caught Chica just as she was rummaging through a lower cabinet; far too preoccupied with whatever she was doing to notice his presence. The irony was not lost on him, and Mike eagerly took the opportunity to get a little recompense for the stunt she pulled earlier as he carefully tiptoed toward his well deserving victim. He could hear her mumbling to herself about the lack of organization in the kitchen as she shuffled around boxes of napkins and plastic utensils, before letting off a triumphant “A-ha!” while giving her a quick and deliberate smack on the rear.
	Letting out an ear-piercing electric wail, Chica jerked upwards with inhuman speed as box of sugar packets clutched in her hand swung out towards him and flung its contents across the room. The two stared tensely at each other for a brief moment: Chica frozen in shock, while Mike fought and failed to contain a self-satisfied smile, even as the tension in his avian companion’s furrowed face made itself clear.
	“You… absolute tool!”  she finally huffed; violet eyes ablaze with brilliant but fast-fizzling rage. “I can’t believe you did that! Here I was doing something nice for you, and you have to go and- and- I can’t believe you smacked my butt!”
	Within moments, her anger gave way to amused disbelief as Mike began to snicker at her deflating outburst. With no other course of action left, she placed the box of sugar on the table behind her and took a slow and obvious swing at his shoulder.
	“Aww, do you want me to kiss it and make it better,” he said mockingly while deflecting the blow at an equally playful pace to her telegraphed punch.
	With a snort, Chica quickly turned around and leaned against the prep-table behind her; lifting her tail-feathers and presenting her backside with a mischievous grin. “Mm-hmm, right here,” she pointed to the spot where he had smacked her, and eyed Mike as if daring him to accept the challenge.
	Too emboldened by his victory to let her obvious attempt at flustering him take effect, he brazenly approached her to once again place his palm on her backside. This time though, Mike made sure to let his hand linger; cupping her padded cheek with indulgent deliberation and noting how her rubbery skin was surprisingly soft considering how much of her body consisted of plastic and metal. The best approximation he could surmise was like memory-foam coated in firm latex, though that description hardly seemed to do it justice. Adding to that, was an unmistakable warmth emanating from just below her sleek exterior. Whether due to purposeful engineering or simply a byproduct of whatever internal mechanism kept her running, the combination of texture and temperature was something entirely unnatural, but strangely inviting.
	“Right here?” he taunted while lethargically rubbing the original point of impact; pressing his body closer as Chica’s catty attitude began to dissipate and give way to something a bit more carnal. “Or was it a little lower?” The bird let lose a soft electric whimper as his hand dipped down across the curve of her backside and gently slid between her thighs.
	“Ah- I dunno,” she shivered as his fingers teased the conspicuously barren mound hidden at the very bottom of her pelvis; still trying to sound playful even after her mood had clearly shifted. “Why don’t you start there and I’ll see if anything jogs my memory.”
	Heeding her words, Mike knelt down behind her and gently brushed his lips against her backside; keeping the pressure on between her legs as the surface of her skin warmed against his touch. Gradually, he began to feel a thin crease emerge beneath his fingertips, followed by the sudden sensation of dampness as hot fluids collected at the edges of the newly formed seam. Little by little, Chica’s mound engorged and separated; slowly exposing her most secret and intimate upgrade in a display of engineering that still baffled him to this day.
	Once her anatomy was fully exposed, Mike wasted no time dipping his fingers between its soft, delicate lips; cautiously testing her newly revealed patch of synthetic flesh at his leisure. Its slick, glossy surface pulsed at the sensation of his fingertips drifting across its ridges and valleys; encouraging further attention with a steady drip of clear viscus fluids that he let pool against his skin. As soon as he found himself sufficiently lubricated, Mike briefly probed the taut entrance, before pressing his entire middle finger up and in with one effortless thrust.
	Tensing at the sudden intrusion, Chica’s mechanical body shuddered and stiffened; locking her thighs around his hand as her snug inner walls clamped down against the invading digit with startling strength. It was an entirely realistic reaction, and despite feeling it numerous times before, Mike couldn’t help but revel in her shockingly overdesigned form. It was a thrill to feel how naturally she responded to his touch, and he marveled in the feeling of her simulated strain as much as the gradual easing that followed.
	Once she loosened up and allowed him the privilege of moving his finger again, Mike decided to retract his digit and content himself with her sopping surface. Working her up and down from the farthest ridges of her burgeoning labia to the very tip of her delicate clitoris, he put Chica’s sensitive touch-sensors through their paces; beaming with satisfaction with each and every mechanical shudder he could evoke while resuming his kisses across her cushy backside. That was, after all, what she had originally asked for, and he saw no reason not to fulfill her request. But as he gradually intensified his petting and the oral affection across her rear, Chica suddenly and unexpectedly forced herself away, leaving Mike to question if he had somehow screwed up.
	His confusion, however, was quickly placated, as she turned around and hopped up on the table behind her; gazing at him with a warm, hazy expression. Her beak was slacked and smiling, as her dim eyes shined over him with a doting, affectionate gleam that told him everything was indeed just fine. Then, with his vision focused squarely on her, Chica parted her legs and brought her feather-like fingers down to her groin; spreading her lower lips and presenting her womanhood in its full and unrestricted glory.
	“I changed my mind,” she spoke with rickety, reserved excitement. “I think I’d like you to kiss me here instead.”
	 Mike’s face was completely red as he stared in awe at his companion’s generous offer. Maybe it was the way her adult anatomy seemed highlighted when compared to her otherwise cute and cartoony looks -or maybe he was just a bit of a pervert- but the sight of her body so open before him wasn’t something he took lightly, and Mike had to fight himself to not get too caught up in staring.
	With a few quick blinks, he focused and forced himself forward; moving his head between her legs as her massive hands wrapped around the back of his scalp and guided him inward. If he had looked up just then, he would have seen Chica staring back down at him with a cheery, almost coveting expression while she cradled his head and pressed him towards her most intimate of upgrades. But his vision had narrowed, and his thoughts were too swept up in the moment to consider of anything other than the task in front of him.
	Chica’s synthetic womanhood quivered restlessly while his lips glanced its surface with as much care as he could manage; a difficult task, as Chica herself was pressing the back of his head harder between her legs with each passing second. Taking the hint that the time for subtlety had come and gone, he followed her lead and shoved his face against her groin; gorging himself on her flesh and fluids as her sensors struggled in vain to process the wonderfully unbearable sensation he was subjecting them to.
	“Th-that’s it, Mike. Kiss me. Kiss me just like that,” the bird began to drone. Her voice was wispy and low, but rapt with erratic shifts in pitch and poise as the burning feeling between her legs slowly consumed her; until finally, with a definitive shift in her increasingly unstable demeanor, Chica locked up and wrapped her frighteningly strong thighs around his head.
	The faux-flesh forced against his mouth trembled and pulsed in a spastic display of ecstasy, while clear, tasteless fluids splattered against his lips chin. Mike did everything in his power to enhancing the experience as best he could, and made sure that his lapping and nibbling were a constant presence throughout his partner’s fleeting moments of bliss. Even after; as Chica’s reeling processor eventually came-to to find Mike still diligently kissing and skimming her drooling sex long after her orgasm had passed.
	“Ah, Mike!” her haggard voice rang out as she guided him to his feet and brought his head in line with hers. “Your face is all messy.”
	“Gee, I wonder why?” he huffed back; bringing his wrist to his chin and wiping away some of the lubricant dripping from his stubbles.
	She chuckled tiredly while reaching for a box of napkins at her side to clean him up as a bit. Watching her expression as she scrubbed his chin and mouth, Mike was fascinated by how casual she looked while she worked. In spite of her compromising position and the bawdy nature of her task, her expression and body language presented the same sort of playful familiarity she always displayed around him. It was strange to think about -how easily she could turn something so lewd into a calm and casual moment- and Mike couldn’t help but smile as his companion dabbed away the last few spots of fluid from his face.
	“What are you so happy about?” the bird-bot smirked while tossing the soiled napkin towards the trash and missing by a mile.
	“You,” he replied without skipping a beat, before pulling her toward him bringing his mouth to her beak.
	Chica fell into the embrace without a fuss; sliding her rubbery tongue between his lips and her arms around his back with equal amenity. In the wake of what they had just done, a simple kiss probably should have felt entirely mundane, but in that moment, Mike wouldn’t have traded it for anything else in the world. It was passionate and spontaneous and a little bit hokey, but very much genuine; and regardless of anything to do with her synthetic nature, there was nothing fake about what the two of them were caught up in right now.
	“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for sappy stuff,” the bird chided when their mouths finally parted; still keeping her arms clutched around his back as she rested her forehead against his.
	“Don’t I know it,” Mike sighed happily; ready to close his eyes and sink into her arms for the rest of the night.
	Chica, however, had other plans in mind, and with a glint in her eye pressed him before he could get too cozy.
	“You know, I think you went a little overboard with all that kissing earlier.”
	“Yeah?” Mike shifted in place and mumbled uneasily.
	“Yeah. And I think it’s only fair I repay you.”
	As she spoke, her oversized hands drifted down towards his beltline; unclasping the various buckles and zippers on his pants before peeling them from his hips. Beneath his uniform, her target was laid bare, as an unmistakable bulge and slowly expanding damp spot dominated the front of his tightly fitting boxer-briefs. With delicate poise, she gripped and lowered the final garment; ardently grinning as his neglected member flopped out from the fabric as if presenting itself to her.
	“So what do you say,” she gushed. “Do you think you’re ready for your reward?”
	Before he could truly reply, Chica's fingers once again met and curled around the leaking shaft with the same sort of cautious reverence that he had shown in its unveiling. Unfortunately, what little contact she provided thus far was enough to rattle the aching guard from any illusions of the night turning into some long, drawn-out affair.
	Though it was only just now that he had even considered his own desires, his body had been active and primed all throughout their previous activities; leaving him just a little too pent-up now that the focus had finally shifted to him. Mike immediately wanted to dissuade the eager robot from getting too swept up in whatever she had in store for him, but as he looked back up from his snared manhood to the glowing violet eyes of his mechanical lover, it was clear to him that the only satisfaction Chica truly craved right now was his own. Her expression was dripping with lewd excitement as she coddled his overstimulated member; seemingly as swept up in its warmth and presence he had been swept up in hers just a few moments ago.
	Trying to keep that in mind, Mike stifled his reservations and slowly inched closer; allowing his partner to carefully alighted the tip of his head with her own waiting sex. Her previous arousal and subsequent orgasm made entry an easy task -as he pressed passed her initial crevice and slid comfortably into her graciously accepting innards with little fuss- but the subsequent heat and pressure that pored over him thereafter proved to be nearly unendurable.
	Try as he might, Mike struggled to find his footing against his rubbery yellow partner, and could do nothing amidst the constant stream of physical feedback of Chica’s insides relentlessly tugging and spasming in adulation of his presence. In the end, all he could do to keep his head was resort to slow, trepidus thrusts, while his body constantly teetered on the edge of its peak; something which Chica immediately picked up on, and was all too happy to exploit.
	Stowing caution and bringing things to their natural conclusion, the bird leant forward and grabbed him from behind right as he pressed forward for another halfhearted thrust. Tugging his hips into hers and holding them in place; the move was so unexpected, and her insides so unbearably wonderful to the touch, that Mike’s long denied orgasm came almost instantly. All at once, his backed-up reserve of his warm, sticky seamen burst forth and began emptying itself into her eager silicon innards. Her job done, Chica contentedly closed her eyes and wrapped herself around his frenzied form; more than happy to let him have his moment at the expense of some masculine dignity.
	And indeed, it may not have been the most idealized of endings, but Mike was nevertheless glad to see that Chica was nothing if not understanding. He was only human after all, and neither of them had any allusions of him living up to the frankly unrealistic standards set by her purpose-built body. Besides, he would make it up to her at some point; of that, he was certain. So for the time being, Mike simply stuffed his pride enjoyed the moment; allowing himself the luxury of wilting against her soft welcoming shoulder while all his pent up lust boiled over and spilled out into her lap.

	“Hey,” Chica piqued once his body had settled down; an unmistakable tone of mischief cutting though her otherwise placid voice. Pulling back from his stoop against her neck, he waited with bated acrimony for the inevitable jive that was sure to come. Not one to disappoint, with a beaming smirk, she shot him one final quip before clamping her beak shut and reveling in her own immaturity. “Gotcha.”
	Trying to shoot her a snide laugh, Mike found he had neither the breath nor the will for it, and instead chose to silently move his head up just enough so the two could meet each other’s gaze pointblank. Taking the time to admire her wide, radiant eyes, he let the moment draw out just enough to spot a tender smile cross her beak, before leaning in and resting his forehead softly against hers. Whatever sense of intimate serenity he had instilled in her quickly dissipated, as he continued to apply pressure until the romantic gesture revealed itself to be nothing more than yet another show of playful protest.
	Realizing she’d been had, Chica scoffed and returned the force in kind, until eventually the battle devolved in a bout of mutual nuzzling, and effectively ended in a stalemate as the two cradled each other in equal submission. It was the best outcome he could have hoped for; and one that -like his dismal job, his crumbling workplace, or even his frankly bizarre relationship- he was more than happy to settle with.
	After all, sure, the pay was bad, and the building was just barely holding together, and there was no way anyone would ever take him seriously again if they know what he was doing to company property- But what did any of that matter? The restaurant was still getting business, his pay was still enough to get by on, and Chica was… still Chica.
	And for the moment, that was good enough.