Work Text:
Checking on my humans through the SecCam feeds has become...strangely reassuring. I had originally attributed it to lingering programming, but as the lunar cycles passed, and my place on PresAux became more easy to categorize, the drive remained.
Perhaps it is a consequence of hacking my governor module? SecUnits are not designed to build emotional relationships with clients, and yet this group reminds me frequently that they consider me a friend. Perhaps it is that “friendship” that has me keeping tabs on each of them throughout the day, spare processing power constantly running in the background in order to verify their safety. I will admit, the idea of any one of them meeting some harm lowers my performance reliability significantly, even Dr. Gurathin, who I have learned is not so bad when he’s not rooting around inside my memory banks.
Speaking of Gurathin—a threat assessment begins to flash over the media I was watching from my repair cubicle, and a quick survey informs me that the doctor’s vitals are experiencing an unusual spike.
Weird. He should be asleep at this hour. Although, from what I have researched, augmented humans do need slightly less sleep than their less advanced counterparts. It’s possible he’s simply put off recharging in exchange for more time working on data analysis. I pull up the SecCam feed that corresponds with his living quarters-
-and immediately shut them off again, feeling like the mechanics in my brain need to be scoured.
...Why though? A quick replay from my memory shows that he hadn’t been doing anything disgusting (thank fuck). Something about the footage had simply...pinged in as intimate. Which is gross enough that usually I would delete what I had seen, and turn my optics to the rest of the PresAux team, rather than those engaging in such activities. But something about this footage annoys me, and I can’t seem to get a positive read on what’s causing it, or at least, not until after I’d already pushed play again on my media. Which means I then have to press pause again, and now the flow of the plot line is completely ruined.
Fucking Gurathin.
At least I’ve come to a conclusion with a 98.7% probability rate: I dislike not knowing what is causing Dr. Gurathin’s footage to read as private.
Looping the clip doesn’t help. There’s absolutely no visible indicator of anything untoward happening within the confines of his room. If anything, it’s precisely as boring as every other team member’s pre-rest hour procedure; he can be seen brushing his teeth, splashing some water on his face, and removing his 3rd most rotated jumpsuit (off-camera) to slip on sleep pants and a shirt that appears approximately one and a half sizes too large.
I have footage spanning 4 lunar cycles that verifies this as routine for the augment, and yet-
And yet.
I then try placing the memory directly over previous clips saved in my temporary feed storage, and further categorize each discrepancy based on whether or not they produce feelings of destabilization and excessive heat in my organic organs. Eventually, I’m able to observe infrequent aspects of Gurathin’s time alone that line-up with spikes in his vitals, as well as the weird feelings of indescribable embarrassment I feel at witnessing them.
It happens when he changes his clothes. Not always, but at a rate of twice or less a week, Gurathin changes in the bathroom, instead of in his living space. These are the times in which he returns from the bathroom with a flushed complexion and an increased heart rate.
“What are you doing in there, Gurathin?” I ask out loud, scanning the footage. Surely he isn’t—ugh—pleasuring himself. Based on my research, that would take far more time.
I hate this. I hate thinking about humans and the gross things they get up to when it comes to experiences of a sexual nature. But what I hate even more is lacking data.
And so I leave my cubicle.
~~~
“Are you awake, Dr. Gurathin?” I ask in what I understand to be a polite tone.
I’m standing outside his living quarters, and have pinged him twice through the feeds to announce my arrival.
“I’m coming, I’m coming...who knew SecUnits were so impatient.” Calls a familiar, irritated voice from the other side of the door. After another 8 seconds has passed (humans are so slow), the door slides open almost silently to reveal Dr. Gurathin looking exactly like the pixelated version of himself from my memory feeds. “What happened, is everyone okay?”
“The others are in no immediate danger.” I respond helpfully, while keeping my optics trained over the doctor’s shoulder. “May I come in?”
“I...suppose so? Look, what’s this about?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive manner, and stepping backwards to allow for me to enter the room without physical contact.
I wait until the door is shut, as my plan primarily revolves around keeping him from feeling interrogated. Humans do not typically respond positively to being interrogated. “I was...concerned.”
“’You were concerned?’” Gurathin repeats, both of his dark eyebrows raising in an expression of surprise.
“Yes. I was...worried for your safety.”
“...I’m clearly fine, SecUnit.” He attempts to smile, but it does not read as very convincing.
“Your heart rate is extremely elevated, and you’re skin is currently undergoing what’s known as a ‘blush’. These are not typical traits for your nightly procedures.” I frown and tilts my head to the side. “Or- they are, but I don’t understand why.”
“I’m- I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Gurathin huffs, looking almost as embarrassed as I feel. “Have you been spying on me?”
“Uh- no.” Quick, think of a lie! “...My SecUnit programming compels me to complete regular safety check-ins for all clients.”
“I may not know very much about SecUnit programming, but we’re no longer your clients, so you have no excuse for checking in, Murderbot.”
I hate when Gurathin uses my real name. He does not typically carry aggressive intentions towards me anymore, but every time I hear him say Murderbot in that low, oddly-lyrical voice of his, my feed confirms that it’s teasing, and I- I can’t quite explain the experience.
I only know that it makes me want to set him off-balance. “Why did you undress in the bathroom this evening, Dr. Gurathin?”
He sucks in a sharp breath and opens and closes his mouth a few times, appearing similar to someone suffering from a mild head trauma. “I- That’s none of your concern! This is- This is a complete invasion of privacy-”
Screw hiding my interrogation. The doctor knows exactly what I was designed for. Moving quickly, I step closer into Gurathin’s vicinity, hoping to catch him off guard. “You often change away from the cameras. Something excites you to do so. Tell me what it is.”
When I had first been assigned to the PresAux crew, I had incorrectly identified Dr. Gurathin as cowardly and perpetually nervous. Now I know better. He tilts his head up to stare at me dead-on, knowing how it causes me discomfort. “I thought you more than anyone could appreciate someone having secrets.”
He’s right. Unfortunately, I don’t care. I can’t make myself let this go. “Tell me.”
Gurathin laughs, but my data informs me that it is not a sound of amusement. Looking at him through the room’s SecCam, rather than my own organic optics, I determine there to be some tension building in the curve of his clenched jaw, and his flush has increased by a whole 12.3%.
Interesting.
“You really want to know what I was doing?” He asks angrily.
“Yes.” I say simply. “...Please.”
Perhaps being polite will lessen the confrontational nature of this visit. Although the statistical chance of that working is not very high.
“Fine. Fine. But remember that you were the one who came barging in here harassing me for answers.”
I cannot let that statement go undisputed. Forcing myself to look down, I meet Gurathin’s gaze directly. “You allowed me access to your quarters, I did not-”
My vocals cut off with a strangled whine of feedback. As I was attempting to correct the doctor on his assessment of the situation, his painted fingers had slipped down his sides, and hooked under the waistband of his sleep pants to tug them down exactly 3.2 inches. It- catches me by surprise. With a pained noise I have no previous records of ever making, I tear my gaze back to a spot on the wall behind Gurathin’s shoulder.
But I had already received new information. Quickly cross-referencing the image he made in front of me, I discovered quite a few resources clearing up exactly what was causing the weekly spikes in his vitals. “You’re wearing protective undergarments unusual for your culture and chosen gender.”
“They’re called panties, but yes.” He nods, all signs pointing to intolerable levels of smugness.
This is horrible. Or maybe it’s not, my risk assessment numbers are rising and falling to quickly for me to decide. Surreptitiously, I take another peek, although I’m unsure why, as I already have all of the optical footage from this meeting saved to my permanent files. “Why do you wear them? Do they...serve some sort of purpose?”
“They’re soft.” Gurathin tries to continue encouraging eye-contact (most likely out of defiance), but I see it through the cam feeds when he gives up and turn his gaze to the ground instead. He then runs a hand through his hair, sending his usually careful part into disarray. “I- like how they feel.”
The room falls silent and I take another look, despite how strange it makes my insides feel. Stretching across his soft hipbones is shiny-looking black fabric framed by thin strips of red material (lace, my feed helpfully supplies) that stands out sharply against his pale skin.
It does look soft. If my epidermis had as even half as many sensory inputs as a human’s (or in this case, an augment’s), I could understand the appeal. “Can I…?”
While I was programmed to correctly assess facial expressions over 82% of the time, the current look on Gurathin’s face is unclear to me. Which is understandable, as I am unsure of what I am even asking, only that I urgently needed his permission. “Yes. That’s- It’s fine.”
Allowing my body to move without instructions, I continue to look, and look, and look. And then, raising an unsure hand, I reach out with mechanical movements and brush my fingers in a line from his waist to the center where the clothing strains to accommodate his sex parts, hard and curving against his stomach. I would normally find this disgusting. According to all of my previous experiences, I should find this disgusting. But it is weirdly...not. Maybe it is because it is Gurathin. Maybe it is because the material is soft. Current research is inconclusive. But I do know that I like the sound he makes when I touch him.
I would typically categorize Dr. Gurathin as annoying, bossy, and rude. Even after we resumed working together upon my return to the PresAux team in a friendly capacity, he seemed to enjoy frequently sighing in disapproval at my many security suggestions. Right now, however, he’s releasing little gasps of air that remind me of the instruments used for the theme song of my favorite medical media.
It’s a much better sound than sighing.
Although—no, sighing can be nice, too. I continue to rub my fingers back and forth, enjoying what little sensory input I am getting from it, and listen as Gurathin’s little gasps turn into barely controlled sighs that he is clearly trying to cover up. “Are there any other reasons for them? Other than being soft.”
It would not be perceptible to the human eye, but as I was designed with cutting edge vision, I quickly notice how my question causes Gurathin’s blush to darken and spread. I wonder if his blush only extends to the facial and neck region, or if the rest of his body changes when he’s experiencing elevated emotions, as well?
Perhaps I’ll ask next time.
“They-” He sucks in a hard breath. “-They look nice. In my opinion, at least.”
“You would be right. They do look nice.” I nod in agreement.
“You don’t have to agree with me.” He laughs weakly, hands flexing and unflexing by his sides.
“I often disagree with you. But on this subject, you are correct.” I insist, feeling very...helpless all of a sudden. “I want to see the rest of it.”
“’The rest of it?’” He chokes out.
“Yes.” I make an approximation of a shrugging motion, unsure of how else I could possibly ask for something I was never programmed with the words for.
“...Okay.” He nods slowly and clears his throat, before gripping the low-slung waist of his pants and tugging them down and off. Gurathin’s shirt, which had previously gotten rucked up during his original display of bravery, falls in the process, and covers up most of the material that had just moments ago been wrecking all of the meticulously stored data I had kept on concepts of intimate encounters such as these.
It bothers me, not being able to see. So without pausing to wait for authorization this time, I haul the doctor forward by the hem of his stupid shirt, and drag it up his stomach to reveal the full silhouette of his- his panties. I like the way the material clings tightly to the tops of his thighs. How well they contain the soft, human angles of him. I even like how dark and damp the fabric is getting in the front, and it’s that which causes me to freeze.
I do not like bodily fluids. Especially not within touching distance. Perhaps I’m malfunctioning? I do feel unusually warm. Reaching out, I ignore the alarm bells in my head, and lay my hand flat and possessive against the shape of him, dragging a shocked moan out of the augment. “You’re wet here.”
His moan pitches over into a keen, and his hips stutter forward against the steady pressure of my hold. “...Wha-at are you doing, SecUnit?”
“I don’t know.” I admit, staring down at where he seems to be attempting to not grind against me. “I can’t seem to stop. I think I may be experiencing some sort of defect.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. That would explain-” His dark eyes flutter shut in a movement similar to that of a camera lens closing, and it fills me with an overpowering sense of relief to no longer have his optics processing my actions.
It also makes me feel...greedy. Which is odd, as a SecUnit is not designed for wanting things. But then again, I was also not designed for intimacy, so clearly there are organic impulses more dominant than my programming.
Now that I no longer have to work under the sensation of his stare, I can move more freely. Noticing how he shies away from seeking friction—despite clearly wanting to take it—I lend him some assistance by dragging my palm harder along the (thankfully contained) dripping line of him. The movement causes him to hiccup out a low breath and stumble backwards, but it’s easy enough to catch him by the arm and guide him backwards, forcing him to use the nearby wall to regain his balance.
It feels good to be the one in control for once, to press Gurathin flush against the surface of his quarters and knock his legs a part with my boot, knowing by the output of his vitals that he’s enjoying letting me do so. “You like this. Tell me.”
“I-” His breathing has become ragged, but not to a point of concern. However, it does appear as if he will need further prompting to continue, so I thread my gloved fingers through waistline of his panties and slip the silky material down his hipbones just enough to expose the slick tip of his sexual organ as evidence. “Yes. Yes, I like it. Please, don’t st- ah!”
The rate at which I’m absorbing new data is overwhelming, but I refuse to give up on this mission until I’m given orders to stop.
Or until I’m satisfied with the results. Whichever happens first. “Is this another one of their purposes? Besides being soft and pretty?”
“I...don’t understand.” Gurathin moans, hips jerking wildly, before I pin him in place with my superior strength.
“I would typically find base interactions such as these revolting, but I must admit that the current image you make is...captivating. Is that part of why you wear these? To keep others captivated?” My vocals are now atypically low, and the effect it has on the doctor is immediate.
He shivers under my frame. “No, I- I’ve never worn these for anyone but myself.”
“And now me.” I add, fans whirring faintly as I attempt to lower my core temperature.
“And now you.” He agrees slowly, eyes still closed.
Quickly sifting through available data for any possible way to continue whatever this is, I grab at the first suggestion offered up by my feed, and slide my hands down his pale thighs to hike them up and around my waist.
There. Now there is much less space between us.
Gurathin gasps, artlessly squeezing around my body in response. “I thought you didn’t like to be touched, Murderbot.”
“I do not. Or...I am learning that I do, but only under specific parameters. This, for instance-” Keeping an arm locked beneath the backs of Gurathin’s legs to reinforce his position, I use my free hand to stroke the wet material sticking to my midsection. “-I find oddly pleasant.”
“I’m honored.” It appears he is attempting to be sarcastic, but the overall effect is weakened by the wheezing quality to his words, and the way he yields for me, cautiously gripping onto my collar plates for support.
“You should be.” I nod in agreement, grinding his body downwards in the way I’ve seen it done on Nebula Voyage 215. It forces more of those musical gasping sounds from low in Gurathin’s vocal chords, little puffs of air warming the 5 ¼ inches distance between our faces.
Again, he laughs, and I find myself wishing this moment could continue for far longer than I believe it will, judging by my augment’s increasingly erratic movements.
“Are you going to release for me?” I demand quietly. I hope he will, I hope I catch him on the SecCams making a mess of himself—all for a security bot. When he does (because who am I kidding, Gurathin is going to do exactly what I tell him to do), I plan on looping the footage so many times that it lodges itself so deeply into my memory bank that no Corporate employee can ever get it out again.
As predicted, it only takes two more hard slides of my metal stomach against his soaked undergarments, and he’s seizing up, hands scrabbling to find purchase against my shoulders as he pulses warm and slippery between us.
“There you go. That’s not so bad.” I throw his words from so long ago back at him, but awkwardly pet at his hair to make it clear they are harmless in intent.
He seems to understand. Or if not, he makes no complaint. Sliding out of my arms, I reluctantly allow him to wobble into standing, frowning even deeper when he takes a few steps further across the tight living quarters to lean against a kitchen counter.
“I’m not sure what just happened.” He admits, while avoiding direct eye contact (for once, I am not so sure how I feel about this) and running his hands down his shirt to straighten out some of the wrinkles that have accrued since this interaction began.
“It was unexpected. For me.” I clarify. Then, a troubling thought crosses my feed. “Are you embarrassed?”
“Me? What about you? You’re the one who mentioned something about...being defective.” Gurathin grimaces, potentially experiencing shame, although about what, I’m not entirely certain.
“That wording was...regrettable. I was experiencing unusual sensations caused by your presence, and my assessment of the situation was not yet completed.” My eyes remain trained on the glass surface behind the doctor. “You did not answer my question.”
“No, I don’t feel embarrassed. Or...I do, a little, but- um-” Gurathin makes a little sigh (unfortunately, not like the ones he had been making previously) and crosses his arms. “-this was- surprisingly nice. May I have an update status on your assessment?”
No, I think grumpily. “Yes...I have come to the conclusion that I- am not grossed out by what happened. And that I also found it surprisingly nice. Too.”
“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows in what is almost definitely surprise. “That’s...That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”
“What did you think I was going to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something about this whole thing being immensely traumatizing and never wanting to touch me again.” The corners of his lips twitch up in a small smile.
“That is stupid.” Has his smile always triggered such a positive response in me? “I would be...unhappy by a lack of future contact with you.”
“That’s...good to know.” And there is that intolerable smugness again. Ugh. “While I’m glad you’re not grossed out, I really should get cleaned up. This is starting to get uncomfortable.”
I look up from the glass just in time to witness Gurathin gesturing towards the mess of half-dragged off panties and steadily drying fluids marking his lower half. “Oh.”
“You could- uh- join me?”
“Oh.” ...There are no SecCam feeds in the bathrooms.