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She ended up working hours past her regular shift: some sort of odd attempted prank of Malloy and LaMarr had ended with the food synthesizer in the mess hall blowing up in their faces—and several other crewmembers. None of the injuries were very severe, but John tended to get annoying when skin grafts got involved, and one security officer had to have a temporary pointer finger made for her. It was nearly 03:00 by the time she got back to her quarters, and all she wanted to do was—
“Good morning, Doctor.”
She nearly fell back into the path of the closing door, and only quick reflexes kept her from a serious knock to the head—or worse. ”Isaac, what the hell are you doing here? I’ve told you that hacking into people’s quarters isn’t allowed under the—“
“Your sons allowed me inside.”
“What? They should’ve been in bed hours ago!” She looked around, as if expecting to see Marcus and Ty gallivanting around, violating her strict rules over bedtimes.
“They were,” he said, his monotone almost delicate. From his prim perch on her couch, he folded his hands onto his lap. “Our original time was 19:00.”
“… Oh, hell—“
It had been. They’d been planning a get-together—date night, really, but she only ever called it that in her mind—all week. It had been so hectic lately, what with all the normal goings-on of the ship and all the peril the captain seemed skilled at getting them into, that, fearing they’d never get a moment together if they just waited for it to happen, they set aside a specific hour.
And life got in the way. It always did, aboard the Orville.
Finn groaned, running a hand down her face. “I’m so sorry, Isaac. With how hectic my shift was… I completely forgot. I should’ve messaged you or something—“
“Please, do not apologize. The well-being of our fellow crew members is paramount,” he said, “and far more important than mere socialization.”
“I… guess you’re right.” She frowned. “Then… Why did you stay?”
“I have no need to rest after my shift,” he said. “I decided that waiting for you, in order to spend what time there is before you must rest together, would be a better use of my time than simply returning to my quarters.”
“To be honest, I’m not even sure if I can sleep.” She sighed, flopping down onto the couch next to him. “Even before you nearly scared the life out of me, my adrenaline’s been running high. I’m too wired to sleep.”
“Perhaps I could provide assistance—“
“Oh, I’d be glad for some chamomile, or—“
“—by giving you an orgasm.”
She could hear her brain creak, slowing down to a miserable crawl as she let his words wash over her. “Wh… Y…. Bu…”
“I have recently been studying the circadian rhythms of biological lifeforms,” he said, cheerfully barreling on as if she wasn’t having a severe stroke next to him. “Upon having an orgasm, a human female releases several different hormones that improve sleep, such as oxytocin and prolactin, while reducing cortisol levels. The increase in estrogen also enhances rapid eye movement, or REM, sleep—“
“I know—“ She inhaled deeply, clasping her hands in front of her face. “I know about REM. I am a doctor.”
“I did not mean to condescend. I was merely trying to relieve your obvious confusion.”
“None of that is what’s confusing me. Isaac.” She looked at him, at the lights she knew weren’t his eyes but seemed like it anyway. “Do you want to have sex with me?”
“As I have said before, it would be very beneficial for my studies if I were to engage in—“
“Isaac.” She held up her hand to stop him. “I’m not a guinea pig. If this is going to happen, you’re gonna have to tell me it’s something you actually want. Do not play games with me.”
There was silence. She watched his hands flex in his lap, his fingers curling in and then out again. Nerves. He’d never admit it, even if she called him out on it. But. Nerves.
“I would like to engage in sexual relations with you,” he said.
She let out a long exhale, and favored him with a sly grin. “You are so lucky it’s gone past the time of night where I give half a damn about anything,” she said, “because I am just in the right state of mind where this doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea.”
They stood together and walked, together, to her room—where she found herself bowled over for the third time that night. It was starting to become a nasty habit.
“… Isaac. Why are there pajamas on my bed?”
“I consider it to be the most prudent option,” he said. “Considering that you share your quarters with your children—and taking into account Ty’s tendency towards poor sleep—wearing this article of clothing in particular will be entirely unobtrusive while also acting as security against any emotional or mental scarring for the boys, should either enter the room.”
“Isaac, that’s not what I—“ She could feel her face heating up, and she though she tried to force herself to sound indignant, tension made her voice squeak. “How long did you spend planning this out?!”
“Approximately two hours and 46 minutes,” he said. “I calculated that you had an 87% chance of responding favorably to my proposition. Considering the overwhelming likelihood of success, I thought to prepare."
“That’s… an incredibly specific number. How’d you get it?”
“Previous interaction, as well as the clear and objective strength of my argument.”
He sounded so proud of it, too… “I’ll slip into something more comfortable, then.”
It wasn’t exactly the sexiest piece of clothing she owned, but she figured Isaac wouldn’t really be the best judge of that sort of thing. It was an old nightshirt of hers, decorated with a picture of a tired Daisy Duck with her morning coffee and a pithy phrase, with frays on the hem and a small hole just under the collar. She peeled herself out of her uniform easily, turned away from him in some hilarious sense of modesty.
“Is this your first time?” she asked offhandedly, pulling the nightshirt over her head.
A thoughtful pause. “With a biological lifeform,” he said, finally.
“Huh.” She couldn’t help a chuckle. “I thought your species reproduced through factories.”
She could hear the creak of him setting himself on her bed. “Kaylons approach physical intimacy as an entirely recreational activity,” he said. “I had come to the conclusion that humans felt similarly.”
“Can’t argue with that.” She smoothed her hair down as the dress fell over her. She put a hand on her cocked hip and turned to him. “Well, how do I look?”
“You look exactly the same,” he said. “A change in outfit would not be enough to completely alter your appearance in any meaningful way.”
“Remind me to ask LaMarr to teach you about the biological lifeform tradition of ‘making a girl feel special.’” She joined him on the bed, pulling her legs up. “So, how do we do this?”
“The optimal way forward would be digital stimulation of the clitoral glans and Gräfenberg spot, as well as any other erogenous zones that become apparent—“
“Fingerbanging,” she provided, helpfully.
“Pardon?”
“Humans—and, honestly, any species with fingers and holes to put them in—call that ‘fingerbanging.’”
“Most intriguing! Perhaps there is a colloquial connotation to the word ‘bang,’ but I can’t—“
“I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise. Now!” She fell back a bit on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. “I do believe you promised me the incredibly bold claim that you can bring me to orgasm.”
“Why would such a claim be bold?” His hand—warmer than she’d thought, like a stethoscope from a thoughtful doctor—placed itself, quite boldly, on her thigh, just below the hem of her nightshirt. “From my research, it does not seem like a very difficult endeavor.”
“Well, you already know what the clit is, so you’ll probably do fine.” She watched the hand disappear under the cloth, the gaps in his fingers lightly scraping her skin. She shivered. “You’re already ahead of the game.”
He spent a short while gripping the fleshy part of her thigh, fondling the meat of it as if curious about the feel of it, before reached her bared cunt. He was almost tentative about it, drawing a single finger down her slit before taking it back.
He rubbed the pads of his fingers together, letting the clear liquid thin and break as he pulled them apart. “You have already secreted a more than adequate amount of lubrication,” he said. “This will be useful.”
“Well,” she said dryly, “you did get me all hot and bothered with that talk about prolactin levels.”
There were no more nerves; one minute, he was running a finger over her lips, and the next, he had shoved a finger inside of her, earning a string of groaned curses and just the slightest glare of annoyance. It was larger than any human finger she’d ever had, but not so much that she couldn’t adjust to it quickly, the slight burn of the gaps against her walls becoming pleasant. He drew the finger in and out, a mechanical rhythm almost comforting in its steadiness.
A second finger joined the first. She felt her hips start rocking to meet him, unsteady and uneven, trying to force him deeper, faster. All the while, his false face met her gaze, never breaking away from it. A part of her mind wondered if he was recording it. For future study.
His fingers crooked up slightly. “God, yes, Isaac, right—Shit!” She almost heard the buzz before she felt it, his fingers vibrating like a dildo hooked up to a ramjet. “Why the hell would your fingers vibrate?!”
“Why would they not?” he asked. He didn’t sound affected at all. But, she hadn’t really expected him to. If only…
Her orgasm came to her in waves, building from a low fire in her belly and cresting as hard metal fingers pressed deep inside her. She rode him through it, rolling her hips, biting down on her knuckle as she resisted the urge to shout; damn cheap starship builders and their thin interior walls. When she finished, muscles twitching, Isaac seemed to know, as he immediately removed his stilled fingers.
“Thank you, Doctor, for allowing me to witness such an intimate biological process first hand,” he said cheerfully, making to stand. “I shall be going now.”
“And just where do you think you’re going?”
He paused, only halfway to standing, staring at her.
“Also, it’s Claire. If being knuckle-deep inside a person doesn’t get you on a first-name basis with them, what else will?” She reached out to take his hand, still gleaming wet with her, and tugged him back towards her. “I’ve gone my whole life without having someone leave my bed unsatisfied, and I’m certainly not gonna stop now.”
“It is no trouble,” he said. “This exercise was merely for your own benefit… Claire.”
“As kind as that is…” She trailed a finger down the smoothness of his head. “I want to make you feel good too, Isaac. Show me how to make you feel good.”
“My species engage in sexual relations in several different ways. The majority of them, such as interfacing, would be difficult, if not impossible, to attempt with a biological lifeform. However…”
“’However…?’”
He brought his hand up to the upper left panel on his chest; upon applying a small amount of pressure, it, to her surprise, opened like a door, revealing a mess of wires and mechanical-looking things, flickering lights and hydraulics. “Should you apply digital pressure to these components,” he said, “it will set off various sensors that—“
“It’ll make you feel good?”
“Yes. It will make me feel very, very good.”
Stamping down the unease at the idea of sticking her hand inside someone’s chest for a reason that WASN’T medical, she took a single finger and stroked the biggest of the wires. It was hotter than the rest of Isaac, but closer to human heat than scalding, and it left a greasy, slightly yellowish substance sticking to her finger.
“Is this your blood?” she asked.
“I believe that a more precise human equivalent would be cerebrospinal fluid.” She was sure she was just hearing things, but his speech seemed… labored, somewhat. As if it was taking longer for him to form and produce the words. “It lubricates my components.”
“Is it safe?”
“Though no biological lifeform has ever ingested it, none of its components are toxic. However, it may have an unpleasant tas—“
She did it. She made him stop talking, made his voice creak into a static burst, like feedback from a speaker. And all she had to do was lean forward, put her head in his chest hole, and lick a long stripe up that fat wire.
She grimaced when she put her tongue back in her mouth, but shrugged. “I’ve tasted worse,” she said, and put her face back in.
As she licked and sucked at the wires, she let her free hand slip in beside her head, gently tangling itself in the tubes and cables. She could feel his body tremble around her, and the air around her seemed thick, almost, like the sky before a thunderstorm. She put her hand on his knee for balance and felt a slight shock, a burst of static. She idly wondered when she would know when he’d come; would there be an obvious sign, or would it be subtler, like--
He fell.
She was left with her tongue hanging out of her mouth when his body suddenly seized and fell back onto her bed, like a tree falling in the woods. The lights of his body, all of them, were off.
“Isaac?”
No response.
Shit.
Had she killed him? Maybe she’d licked the wrong wire, or pressed the wrong button. Oh, it was not going to be fun explaining THAT to the captain, if it came to that—
She heard an odd noise. It was… It sounded a bit like something she’d heard in a movie, once. An old period piece, set in 1990s Earth. The character had a desktop computer, and when it started up…
The noise ended. Isaac, his lights back on, sat up abruptly. “I am sorry for any concern I may have caused you, Claire,” he said, with just the slightest hesitation before using her name.
“I almost thought I’d killed you, for a moment,” she said.
“It is normal for my species to require a forced reboot after sexual climax.”
She chuckled lightly. “I almost wish you’d stopped before telling me that,” she said. “It would be one hell of an ego boost to think I’d screwed a guy into a full reboot.”
“Actually…” He paused, cocking his head. “It is quite unusual for it to happen so abruptly. Generally there is the chance to warn your partner beforehand; I must not have been paying attention to my warning notices.”
She outright laughed. “That good, huh?”
There was the sound of a door opening, and Claire suddenly found herself immensely grateful for Isaac’s odd logic, as she shoved her oil-slick hand into her lap and tried to give Ty the most normal, calm smile she could. He looked sleepy and slightly upset, rubbing absently at one of his eyes, but didn’t particularly seem like he would need years of expensive therapy.
“What’s wrong, Ty?” she asked.
“I had a bad dream,” he said. “Could you come sit with me for a little while? I can’t sleep.”
“Sure thing, baby. You just head back to your room and I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”
His hand dropped to his side, and he gave a bleary but curious glance at Isaac before turning his attention back to her. “Mom?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Is Isaac our dad now?”
“… Go back to sleep, Ty.”