Connor runs the diagnostic one more time to make sure. He blinks at his own interface.
» Hipbone component misaligned. Manual realignment needed.
» Peripheral motor functions recalibration needed.
» Start calibration? Y/N
He starts running the calibrating script with a sigh.
Hank agrees to drive him to the nearest repair centre pretty easily –they’ve become quite close friends, family even, so it’s no surprise that the Lieutenant worries.
The resident technician greets them with a smile.
“Hey, Connor! What seems to be the matter?”
“My latest diagnostic has registered a few problems with my body’s alignment, especially the hipbone.”
That gets a confused look from Hank and a curious one from their tech.
The WG100 runs a preliminary scan while starting up the repair station. “Okay… any idea what might have caused this?”
“I have reason to believe it was fucked out of its place.”
“Jesus Christ, Connor!”
Despite not showing any change in facial expression, Connor is entirely too amused at Hank’s reaction.
“Oh, Jesus Christ had no hand in that, Hank, I can assure you.”
The technician –Luke, a scan reveals– clears his throat awkwardly. “Okay, um. Did the… intercourse happen with your full consent?”
Asking the important questions. Connor can respect that. “Absolutely. I actually had to goad Markus quite a bit into giving it to me just the way I wanted it.”
“Connor, for fuck’s sake!”
“Funny you should use those words, Hank, that’s exactly what Markus was shouting while I—”
“I don’t wanna know. Honestly.”
Luke seems of the same opinion, but he still has to do his job. “May I ask you to step onto the station?”
“Of course.” The RK800 readily obliges.
“Now… how long was the misaligned biocomponent under stress?”
“Well, he held me down as we had intercourse over his desk for the better part of two hours.”
“What the— that doesn’t sound possible—”
“You see, Hank, there’s no standard sub-routine for sexual intercourse; and while most of them average around thirty minutes, there are ways of slowing it down through the denial of certain stimuli or the dilation of impulse time…”
“I was not asking for an explanation! Jesus!”
Poor Luke is caught between not wanting to upset the Lieutenant and having to ask.
“Okay… the diagnostic is complete… I’m also detecting some of your joints have come looser than they should be. Is that also a result of… of…”
Connor’s lips twitch in the barest hint of a self-satisfied smirk. “Of Markus fucking the processing power out of me? Yes. It must have happened while he held my thighs down at the sides of my torso to have a better angle for ramming into me.”
“Goddamn it, Connor, are you doing this on purpose?!”
“Not really, Hank. I simply see no problem in discussing a healthy and consensual sex life, since it’s in my best interest to be as detailed as I possibly can to ensure a successful and long-lasting repair.”
“I—I’ve input all the damage data into the station, and the nanomachines have detected that you have a software recalibration already in progress. With your consent, they’ll read the calibration data and adapt the repair process to your result.” The WG100 seems only slightly uncomfortable, tugging lightly at his uniform collar, “The process will take about 36 minutes to complete. Do you have any special instructions or safety measures you wish to be respected?”
Connor thinks it over for a second. “Is it possible to adjust the rotation range parameters of my abductor joints?”
“…yes. Yes, it is. Is there a specific parameter you wish to correct?”
This time, Connor does let his lips tilt up into a grin. “I want a full box split. It will make specific positions easier on my chassis and the experience more pleasurable –once Markus knows he doesn’t have to worry about damaging my ligaments, he’ll be free to put more effort into holding me down and making me scream—”
“Okay, that’s it, I’mma go wait outside!” Hank has clearly had enough. “I don’t need any of this shit.”
It’s too fun to watch him leave with his feathers all ruffled –though, to be completely honest, Connor does feel slightly bad about embarrassing the Lieutenant. Still, it’s all in good humor. He will probably buy him a drink when it’s over to make up for it, and all will be forgiven.
“So…” Luke is much less flustered, now that it’s just the two of them, “…that good, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
“You are one lucky android.”
The RK800 looks up at Markus with his warmest puppy eyes. “Yes?”
“Is it just me, or in the last couple of days Lieutenant Anderson has been acting weird?”
“I’d say that’s par for the course for Hank… but define ‘weird’.”
“Well… he avoids my eyes, ducks out of shoulder-pats, and the last time I offered him a seat at my desk he was out of the room like his pants were on fire.”
Connor manages to get away with just a little chuckle.
“Hmmm… I’m sure it’s nothing.” He assures, placing a hand on Markus’ chest, “Perhaps he’s just a bit intimidated by you. Deviant leader and such.”
The RK200’s gaze lowers to try and follow the motion of Connor’s hand, “…perhaps.”
“In the meantime… if your desk feels too empty, I can propose a way of using up the space.”
“Maybe later, love, I have work to do—”
“I have a surprise for you. You’ll like it.”
There’s a long, poignant silence, before Markus eventually sighs. “I’m so whipped.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”