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in tenera delicto (in tender offense)
It was one of those mornings – fairly rare these days, and all the more enjoyable for it – when Gurathin woke up from a half-remembered dream, aching and already wet. He stretched, luxuriating a little, enjoying the roll of arousal as his thighs clenched and released. He had nowhere to be today, and the arousal wasn't retreating. Why not enjoy himself?
He reached for the lower drawer on his nightstand and pulled his favorite sex toy out, a small device that, when inserted, could grow, thrust and vibrate to his specifications over the feed. He rubbed it lightly over his pussy, slicking it up a little and enjoying the tease, before dragging it up, over his sensitive inner lips, to circle around his clit. Then down again, to delicious pressure on his opening, letting the ache grow without the relief of penetration.
He’d never had much of a sex drive, and it was even lower when he was without a partner, which had been most of the last five years. It didn’t bother him, and since he wasn’t interested in casual hookups, it was never much at the forefront of his mind. The dream had been nice, though, even if his recollection of it now was fuzzy. When he was in the mood, a slow wank was something he enjoyed very much.
Starting to get restless, he brought the head of the sex toy to his hole and pressed lightly, loving the moment of pressure before it slid in. In its inert state, the phallus was small, barely the first knuckle of a finger deep, and he flexed around it pleasurably as he lined up the external attachment with his clit. Then, thinking vague thoughts of strong hands on his waist, he set the toy to making small, shallow thrusts (or, extensions and retractions, if you wanted to be pedantic), working himself up slowly.
Gurathin. The sound of Murderbot’s voice over the feed made him twitch, which did interesting things to the parts of him under the blanket. What are you doing?
Gurathin sighed. He didn’t stop the device, but he slowed it down in deference to the conversation. (The culture he’d grown up in had had a very lax attitude to privacy, including for intimate acts. He knew it was down to the sheer amount of overcrowding – when there were six of you crammed into a one-room apartment, having sex in the dark so the others could only hear and not see, was considered the height of politeness. Being open about that stuff was one of the few things the culture of his childhood had in common with the culture of Preservation, though he doubted the Preservationers who were born here would see it that way. He had of course learned about appropriate boundaries since moving here, but regardless, he’d never had that impulse to scramble guiltily if interrupted in the middle of getting his rocks off, and he didn’t intend to start now.)
He responded, I’m pretty certain you don’t want to know.
It sent, You took something out of the drawer by your bed, but I couldn’t make it out. It added, It’s feed-controlled. Then, almost petulantly, You should have let me perform a security check on it.
Ah, so it had slipped a drone into his quarters at some point during the night. Gurathin was getting good at spotting them, but apparently not this time. It wasn’t like he’d ever told Murderbot not to record him in his private spaces (see above re: not really caring) but in instances such as these, he felt that if Murderbot chose to invade his privacy, then private moments might be what it got.
And you want to know what I’m doing with it, Gurathin said pointedly. Under the bed covers.
There was a pause that Gurathin interpreted as the dawning of horrified realization, about which he allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction. Then Murderbot said, That’s disgusting, but didn’t close down the feed channel.
Interesting.
Speeding the device up a little, Gurathin sent, Do you know, SecUnit, I find it fascinating that you think I’m the abrasive one.
And SecUnit – well, SecUnit replied. SecUnit continued talking to him, even knowing what he was doing. A stroke of excitement licked low in his belly. It said, You are.
And yet, Gurathin sent, I’m the one minding my own business, in my own quarters, while you spy on me and then have the nerve to tell me my activities are disgusting.
Almost sulkily, it sent, You know my drone is there, that’s not spying.
Agree to disagree, Gurathin said. That seemed to stump it. The pause this time went on for longer, and assuming its attention had been directed elsewhere, he let his eyes fall closed and told the toy to start rubbing his clit, a low, deep vibration that let him enjoy the slow building pleasure.
He almost groaned when Murderbot spoke again, its voice quieter in the feed, but somehow more intent. Why do humans do that?
Oh fuck, the sound of its feed voice sent a ripple of heat through him. Knowing he was starting to sound breathless, Gurathin replied, Because it feels good.
Lots of things feel good.
That’s true. Gurathin bit his lip, trying not to moan. While he didn’t have any compunctions about continuing what he was doing while Murderbot was watching him, he suddenly felt that the fact he was getting off on the sound of its voice might be poking a toe over the line. He said, Think of it as maintenance. The– mmm– the biological systems benefit from the attention. Though– he paused to roll his hips up as he pressed the toy down, shivering from the stab of pleasure– being party to it in any way is supposed to be consensual.
He’d expected that to finally send it running. Instead, it said, You haven’t told me to leave.
Fuck, was he really going to say it? Was he really that reckless? The deep, desperate ache between his legs confirmed that yes, he really fucking was. “No,” he gasped out loud. “I haven’t. And you haven’t removed yourself, either.”
Your heart rate spikes every time I speak, it told him. You’re… enjoying it. Hearing my voice.
Gurathin let out a small laugh, at himself and the situation. He’d been caught red-handed, or… something-handed, and he was so fucking predictable. Well, in for a cent, as they said in the CR.
“Being told what to do is one of my kinks.”
I’m not telling you what to do.
“Guess I just associate you with authority.”
A faint sense of embarrassment came across the feed, but other things too. Something like pride, and curiosity, and something fiercer still. Its laconic voice sounding unusually rough, it sent, You like it when someone else is in control of you?
Mother gods, this was going to unexpected places, and Gurathin was more turned on than he had been in years. Before he could reply, he felt control of the little device gently taken from his feed (SecUnit had such a huge feed presence, but was always so careful) before it turned itself off. No, before Murderbot turned it off.
Gurathin groaned, writhing, desperate for pressure, for friction, for something, but when he moved to do it manually, Murderbot said sharply, No hands.
Quietly, he breathed, “Oh, fuck.”
It spent the next hour edging him into oblivion. He didn’t know if it knew that was what it was doing, but it seemed to enjoy being in control of him, denying him pleasure until he begged and whined, and only turned the device up bit by bit until he was desperate.
“Please,” he whimpered, finally at breaking point, hands fisted in his sweat-damp sheets. “I need to come.”
The toy reduced in speed again, and Gurathin was ready to cry, when SecUnit sent, Well. Since you asked nicely, and drove it up to one of the higher settings, the one Gurathin used when he wanted to get off quickly, the dick huge and thrusting fast, the vibrations deep and hard. He was drenched and needy and incredibly sensitive, and it sent him over the edge between one breath and the next, before driving him over again with long pulses of pleasure. Gurathin arched off the bed with a yell, before collapsing back, twitching and sensitive. Urgently, he took control of the device back (SecUnit let it go without resistance) and set it to a low rumble and slow, lazy thrusting. He could feel SecUnit observing him minutely, taking note of the settings he preferred (his heart absolutely did not flip at the idea it was making notes for a follow up). Aftershocks rolled through him, warm and so, so good.
And so of course it was then that he remembered who he’d been dreaming about, before any of this happened. Oh, what the hell? (It was Murderbot. He’d been dreaming of Murderbot.) He felt too good to be anything but mildly, self-deprecatingly amused. (The terror and self-recriminations would come later, no doubt.)
In their private feed connection, it sent him an analysis of his vital signs before and after what they’d– he’d– no, they’d done. Muscular tension and facial stress indicators were noticeably lower. It seemed satisfied by this, but also uncertain about something.
That was good, Gurathin sent, trying, in his spent state, to be reassuring. Really, really good.
There was a sudden sense of distance in the feed. He hadn’t noticed how close SecUnit had felt until it withdrew. It sent, Uh, okay. I’m going now.
Gurathin huffed. What, no after care?
There was a short wait as it presumably looked up the definition of “after care.” Then, outraged, it sent, You want me to come over there and cuddle you?
That would be preferable to throttling, he sent, feed voice wry. But no, not if you don’t want to.
There were several seconds in which it did the feed equivalent of opening and closing its mouth as it tried to figure out what to say. And then, with aching tentativeness, it came close again, filling Gurathin’s feed until it felt like it was wrapped around him, on top of him, huge and gentle and nervous and warm.
Oh, Gurathin thought. Oh.
(He was so fucked. He had no complaints.)