“No”, you answered without bothering to look up, continuing with the task at hand and ending the discussion before it could even start, absent-mindedly huffing at the workload you still had to finish before closing time and massaging your temples in annoyance.
Maybe it would’ve been appropriate to be at least the slightest bit taken aback at such a sudden and crude request, but you’d gotten used to Connor’s regular outbursts of randomness since most of the sentences he dropped made for a nice bit of trivia to tell at parties later. He’d once almost blown up the precinct, after all, trying to unravel just how exactly that pipe bomb worked.
And honestly, that Android was curious enough to stick his
nose tongue everywhere it didn’t belong, so this kind of question was hardly anything to be unsettled by. He didn’t mean it that way, couldn’t even understand what he was asking of you, because his omniscient AI still hadn’t figured out how private topics worked for humans. That’s why you didn’t take any offense in his words. That’s why you couldn’t take them seriously either.
And usually, the Rk800 would’ve let off at that, especially since he knew how busy you were, both of you. But this time, Connor seemed too insistent to be his usually casual and seemingly distant self. This time, Connor seemed to be on a mission that would cost you your last bit of common sense.
“I accept your decision, but would you be so kind as to inform me as to why you’re declining my demand?”, he asked, tilting his head in that confused manner you secretly adored so much. Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed the lump in your throat down forcedly. Ah, fuck this guy, seriously.
(Not literally though.)
This ironically polite inquiry finally made you halt in your movements, causing you to look up and confront him with a self-assured stance, trying to conceal how nervous you were getting. You also put the few files in your hands back to the desk and turned to him with a small snort, grinning at him broadly, although your smile was probably wavering considerably by now. It was late. You were tired. Your skills of deception might have lacked a bit, but who could blame you?
“Are you seriously asking why I don’t want to give you a handjob?”, you asked, amusement filling your tone despite yourself and the late hour. “Look, Connor, I realize you don’t really get social matters, but we humans don’t just wank random people off to figure out whether there’s something wrong with their potency. It’s a rather – how do I say this – delicate topic you don’t talk over during closing hours.”
But Che was having none of it, the suave little shit.
“I can assure you I haven’t received any error-messages concerning my potency, but my sensors don’t seem to work and lack calibration. Since you are male, and since you masturbate frequently –“
You tried to cut him off with a flustered “Hey!”, but the other male just ignored you and blinked cutely while mercilessly continuing: “My processing unit estimated you as the most suitable partner to fulfill this request. Please?”
Darn. You couldn’t withstand those puppy dog eyes.
And that’s how you’d gotten into this situation in the first place, kneeling in front of a seated Connor with hunger carefully concealed in your gaze but still evident in the way you licked your lips in anticipation. Your mouth was running dry as you watched his erection stand tall, underwear pooling at the sides of his hips and legs lazily opened to face you directly. The office table creaked beneath his weight. His penis twitched. At that moment, you were aware of how you would never be able to write a single report on your desk without immediately remembering this and getting hard, committing the sight to memory, slightly jealous of Connor’s ability to just record stuff whenever he wanted.
Was he recording this too? Your wanton expression? The way you had to keep your hands from touching yourself inappropriately?
Cautiously, your fingers wrapped around the scorching hot flesh of his cock, giving it an experimental tug and making the mistake of looking up to him while doing so. He was observing you, completely unfazed. Maybe even a bit bored. But you writhed underneath the gaze affixed to your features and bit your lip to keep some embarrassing sounds from escaping your throat. He was unwavering, with a scary focus that made your blush deepen and penis stir up in shameful interest.
Damn traitor. You had promised it a furious wank-off-session afterward, but your conscience wasn’t enough to control your blood from flowing southwards, causing shivers to run up your spine and settle in the sensitive base of your neck.
Hoping he wouldn’t have the nerve to read your heart rate, you started off with a rough but nonetheless steady rhythm, tugging and twisting your hand in a way you’d picked up after the many times you did it yourself, thumb brushing along the veins that stood prominently along his girth and made your mouth water at the sight of them. Your index finger glid over his glans, stroking the lower side of his length almost lazily while trying to wrap your head around what you were doing right now, and how this was wrong. Wrong on every single level you could fathom.
You were wanking your colleague off. An android. Connor. The sometimes scarily dumb Rk800 who probably didn’t even understand the principle of sexuality at all. Of course, you were taking advantage of him, since he didn’t know any better. Him asking for your help wasn’t a sufficient substitute for consent. You should’ve just sent him away with a chuckle on your lips and pat on the back, not with the salvia that was running out of the corner of your mouth without your volition.
Honestly, if you hadn’t seen how he swelled up in your hand by yourself, you might’ve doubted he was able to pop a boner in the first place, adding a smooth plane of skin where his crotch was in your imagination. You weren’t even sure he’d have a normal dick before, but also too shy to ask. Why would CyberLife equip their prototype with a functional dick? What reason could there be aside from horny developers having their fun, or Kamski just messing with you personally? Yes, it quite possibly had undoubtedly persuasive qualities in an unconventional interrogation, and you seriously considered sending his creator a gift basket later, but still: Why?
He was warm, practically burning your hand, clothes still tidily buttoned up except for his pants that slipped deliciously lower with every movement. You asked yourself whether he had cranked up his temperature deliberately, just to mess with you, but quickly discarded that thought in fear of getting your hopes (and dick) up unnecessarily. You ached to run your other hand along his chest, pepper kisses along every bit of skin you could reach and leave a mark or two, but sadly, that wasn’t what he’d asked for. This much should be enough already, although it was not able to satisfy your needs in itself. You’d never forget it. Your mind wouldn’t let you, especially since you seemed to react more than him anyway.
Your breath was already labored, your erection straining painfully against the unforgiving material of your uniform, and with every stroke something deep inside your abdomen stirred in need, shooting harsh impulses through your fingertips whenever you gave Connor another tug. The only thing giving away that Connor felt anything at all was a small scrunch of eyebrows along the bridge of his nose. Kind of disappointing to you, honestly. You had aimed to see him come undone after all, not coming pitifully all by yourself through touching another man’s length.
And he just kept watching you with those black eyes without a single word or sound spilling over his lips. His lenses had dilated so far that the chocolate-brown of his irises had retreated entirely, letting you drown in the dark pool of his gaze, not managing a single, coherent thought right now.
Ok, scratch that. There was a single thought that made sense. You had even managed a complete sentence, how unexpected!
You desperately wanted to taste him.
Leaning down, you opened your mouth, hovering just above the tip as a hand clasped underneath your chin and forced you to look upwards again, meet his half-lidded gaze as Connor slowly moved forward, suddenly looking every bit of disheveled you could have wished for in your wildest dreams.
“Do you enjoy this, Detective?”, he mused.
Then he bit down on your neck harshly and made you arch into the feeling, your right hand indeliberately closing around his shaft and giving it another tug while the other buried itself in his jacket, as he came in long spurts along your stomach and breached your skin with his teeth, tasting the metallic but somehow sweet blood on the tip of his tongue, analyzing it carefully to save its components for further usage. Somehow you managed to wonder what kind of liquid that was through your hazed mind, while you too climaxed unpremeditatedly, vision blacking out for a second and breath just stopping as you threw your head back and bared your throat in a gesture that made Connor’s cables twist pleasurably.
A pitiful whimper resounded, while the android tentatively licked the mark he’d left, lean fingers gliding along your bulge and clasping around it through your pants, rubbing the erection, although it was still sensitive from your previous high, thus making you shiver brutally. You could feel him smile against the juncture of your shoulder and clavicle, and that did all sorts of things to you, making your toes curl in pleasure and eyes fill with tears.
“May I return the favor?”, he asked smoothly, voice dangerously deepened to a level that made you brokenly moan once more. You wanted to scream “Yes!” at the top of your lungs, despite not being able to comprehend anything that was happening, or truly appreciate the offer you’d never expected in this lifetime, but your vocal cords only managed a small keen.
Then Connor noticed how the material separating his hand from your cock had dampened considerably, and he leaned back to take in the way you hid your face in the crook of your arms now, a deep blush reaching over your neck and ears, probably even painting your shoulders in a delicious shade of rouge.
He blinked, dumbfounded.
“Did you just come by giving me a fellatio?”, the damned Rk800 asked disbelievingly, seduction wiped from his tone and replaced with something you hoped to identify wrongly as amusement. Could you just die please? Die on the spot and fall into the metaphorical pit that just opened beneath you? (Didn’t matter if you did though since you were pretty sure you had already gone to heaven long ago. Or hell. You quite couldn’t pinpoint it yet.)
“Shut up!”, you whined, swatting away a hand that tried to make you face him. But of course Connor - that sneaky plastic jerk - was having none of it, and gently pried your arm away from your features, observing every single crease in your features and adding them to his memory storage immediately.
He smiled at you (and you suspected he might’ve blinded you in the process), leaning forward to capture your lips and whisper something to them that made your already raging blush deepen even more.
“Don’t worry. I’m still in need of thorough calibration, and your assistance would be very appreciated.”
When you woke up the next morning, you were painfully aware of three facts (excluding the throbbing in your lower regions).
1. That little shit had planned it.
2. He was a top, and
3. very, very endurant. You couldn’t walk for the entire day.