Cody stepped through the gilded archway of The Black Circuit, and the familiar weight of status settled over him like a bespoke coat. Gold-trimmed lighting traced the ceiling like veins. The air was thick with the scent of hand-rolled cigars, vintage lubricant oils, and the rich, comforting musk of aged leather booths warmed by thousand-credit asses.

This wasn't just a bar—it was a cathedral of indulgence. And Cody, as always, came to worship one man behind the altar.

You

The bartender moved like silk draped over armor—graceful but grounded. A human, real and solid, with curves that defied the surgical trends of post-industrial beauty. While most human staff were thin, carved and filtered into unobtrusive silhouettes, you were thick, substantial—flesh that said you survived a world meant to erase you. Your shirts clung just enough. Your slacks hugged in ways that made Cody's breath hitch.

He watched you craft drinks the way an artist handled glass. Every bottle tilt precise. Every pour sensual. The older bots at the bar adored you, and why wouldn't they? You gave them elegance, attention, and warmth they hadn't felt since their software patches were still in beta.

Cody took his usual seat at the curved end of the bar—a position with a perfect sightline to your back. He drummed his metallic fingers against the polished counter. One beat. Two. Three. The other patrons—a few overpolished execu-droids and a diplomatic AI in a faux-organic suit—chatted you up in that sterile, polite tone Cody hated. Pretending they wanted to flirt, when all they really wanted was to be seen with a beautiful human who hadn't yet been bought.

Cody clenched his jaw. He could interrupt. One raised finger and you would leave the rest mid-sentence. Cody's credits were good enough for that.

But that wasn't the game.

He smiled, kept quiet, and adjusted his cufflinks—titanium with obsidian inlay. Let them all think they had a chance. Let you see that Cody was patient. That he could wait. That beneath the elegant exterior, something was ticking.

You finally turned, catching Cody's gaze. Just a flicker. Just enough to stir the heat coiled low in Cody's gut.

He wasn't sure if you knew how you looked in that button-up shirt. The way it strained at the chest, clung at the waist. The way it framed that soft, heavy ass as you bent to retrieve a bottle. Cody imagined rope—tight, functional, red against pale flesh. He imagined that body suspended, legs bound, mouth panting. He imagined bruises—earned, welcomed—and fingers clawing at silk sheets as he—

His nails scraped the wood. A soft growl slipped from his throat before he could stop it.

One of the nearby bots glanced sideways. Cody ignored them.

Soon, he thought. Tonight, maybe. Or the next.

Because Cody had everything—status, wealth, private suites built like palaces. No one told him no. Certainly not a human working behind a robot's bar.

But you... You hadn't said yes, either.

And that made Cody want you all the more.