“Jesus fucking Christ!”
What the fuck is wrong with Black Mesa? Like, in general? Ignore the alien armada currently invading the building and killing everyone, and focus instead on Gordon Freeman. Specifically, the HEV suit he’s wearing. More specifically, the part of his HEV suit that's just pressed a little vibrating bulb up against his dick at complete random.
Who the hell added this function? Why the hell add this function? What fucking trickster god behind designing this wretched neon prison decided ‘yeah, let’s add a feature that’ll just randomly go off and start jacking off the unfortunate soul piloting this shit-tier mech suit, that sounds fun’? Did one person weasel this in or was this agreed upon by the whole design team? How many ‘yay’s did this get? And why was it so damn good at getting him soaking fucking wet in the middle of a cross-universal warzone?
Gordon was lucky in his timing, at least - he was just in a hallway, thinking about the ethics of eating possibly sentient aliens, when his suit announced some shit he didn’t catch. What he did catch, however, was the impromptu hitachi wand suddenly blasting him. Thus, running off (as best as one can while being actively stimulated) into an abandoned office - and it was even below the surface-area-covered-by-blood (SACBB) average the rest of this hellhole had established! Everything’s coming up Gordon.
By the time he’d slammed his back against the door to close it, he was already panting and muttering out senseless curses through grit teeth, both from the building arousal and from having to haul ass due to said building arousal’s source. He stumbled his way forward, the thick second layer the HEV suit gave him being the only thing keeping him from falling flat on his face, legs already weak from the constant buzz.
“Whoever designed this fu-uhn-cking thing, if they aren’t already dead, I’m gonna k-iiell them my fucking s-elf...” His weight fell heavy in the cheap office chair. “Fuckin’ perv-erhted old f-farts, adding a, oooah, damn jackooughf, function, bastards…”
He started to absentmindedly grind his hips down into the seat, thighs shaking under the suit. “What the hell even tr-iiiggered this thing, I wasn’t, nnnph, doing anything sexy, u-unless you coUUNt, just being myself…” He let his head fall to the fake wood desk in front of him, biting his lip and clenching his fists. “God, that’s good…”
“SHIT!” The speed suddenly picked up, bordering on painful as it worked at his clit without mercy, the buzz audible if one listened close enough (though, Gordon’s moans were covering it up, so no point in trying).
“Jes-us, give a guy ssome fuhh.. fucking, warning first…” The roll of his hips sped up, grinding the clunky ass of his suit uselessly in the primal search for more he couldn’t achieve, pleasure fully in the hands of the HEV suit.
His ragged breaths and moans jumped to a yelp as the suit, without pausing the harsh stimulation on his dick, poked at his folds, making Gordon painfully aware of how wet he’d become in the past few minutes.
“Holy fuuhh, ck, you’re fucking relentless!” He whimpered as it practically teased at his opening, raising up from the desk to instead sit back, back arched as far as it can in the dick-happy tin can, hands covering his eyes
He spat out from grit teeth. “Can you just, uunngghh, get on with it alreadyyy!” His hips ground against the seat like he was giving the thing a lap dance, vulgar and shameless. “C’monnn… fuck me alreadyyy…”
The suit listened, moving from teasing around his aching opening to plunging right in, not slow in its entry, still for only a moment before fucking him in earnest, buzz growing somehow harsher still against him.
“A-aahh! Holy fuck holy fuck hoo-oly ffuck, don’t stop don’t staaahp don’t fucking stopp…!” He’ll have time to worry about how much of a pornstar he sounds like when his life isn’t in active danger, for now he’s gonna fucking enjoy himself, damnit.
“OH FUCK!” With a final harsh clack of squeezed thighs and curling toes hidden from view, he came, stars doting his vision as he ground his hips down in shallow thrusts, riding out that searing hot pleasure shooting up his spin, letting nasally whines escape him as aftershocks kept hitting him.
The HEV suit stopped just shy of overstimulating him, the bulb stilling and retreating from his dick, suit retracting from his cunt with a near audible pop. Gordon felt like jelly, too blissed out in the afterglow to hear whatever the HEV suit said after stopping the assault between his legs, eyes closed and panting like he just ran a marathon (wasn’t there a triathlon due today? This should count).
With a dry swallow, he opened his eyes, flopping his hands to the armrests, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing.
“Well. That was probably the best orgasm I’ve had in at least three months.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead, the rough material of the glove helping to ground him back to reality. “Still gonna kill the old codger who added this, though - I’m staring this gift horse down the fucking throat.”