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let's keep at it until we understand each other.

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“wait– wait– wait.... just– just a second” his voice interrupted by huffs of air, his hands, warm, steady on your hips, a genuine smile, almost childish, with his cheeks tinted the softest cyan you’d ever seen “i’m–” he doesn’t get to continue, giggling under his breath, trying to completely cool down his systems, his face finding comfort in the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose along the muscles connecting to your chin, inhaling your scent – yes, there’s sweat as well, but he actually doesn’t mind that. it’s the last thing he’s noticing now, still inside you, basking in the afterglow of what felt like the most normal thing he’s ever done with you. no weird interruptions, no ominous phrases, no chagrin of his persona, no vexation for his poor gears. good. only good. the perfect moment in the perfect circumstance. he’s surely going to keep this memory in his heart’s important documents folder – yes, it is only filled with rare moments of you not risking your life “love” you tentatively start, sinking your fingers through his dark wood colored hair, gently caressing his scalp “mh? want another round?” he murmurs on your skin with the hint of a laugh, a tone too cheeky, as if to challenge the suspicious present bliss “i– don’t think that’s possible.” he begins planting tiny kisses along your collarbone, trailing your bones “come on, tired already? i can’t believe it, you’re always so full of energy. want me to beg for it?” he’s playing, teasing, no, not that he wouldn’t plead to you, quite the contrary, in fact– “there’s a problem.” he goes rigid, still, slowly and mechanically moving his back against the gean headboard, his eyes meticulously checking you, roaming in panic across your figure. vital signs: OK. he internally sighs, mentally surrendering to your slightly worried lower lip, being bitten hard by your teeth. this android is definitely not ready to hear about the umpteenth disaster that’s going to crush him “what’s the matter, baby?” his palms climbing up your waist with tiny steps, trying to soothe you. simultaneously something else is set in motion: the piercing pain of him not being good enough (of being the ‘problem’) gingerly gnawing at his core “it’s stuck” his pupils going wide “what’s stuck?” “your dick!” you tartly answer, duh , of course it was that, what was he thinking about? “w–what” his mouth not able to articulate sounds any further, trembling, jaw promptly open at loss for any other response if not that of darting his gaze below, between you two, his mind scanning for damages “you.... tore apart my biocomponent” his features leaping onto yours again, bewildered, indecisive on the feeling he should experience. fear? awe? excitement? “how the fuck—” he stops, clears his throat and blinks a few times “sorry. i’m– very taken aback.” maybe it’s better if he perseveres ignoring why these kinds of things always happen to you.

RK900 is everything okay?”
“then can i ask why you’re late this morning? the detective i understand, but you?”
“it’s rather a long story. we’re currently at the E.R. and no, you’re not allowed to inquire why.”