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Just think about it, okay, he’s an observation Android, but obviously he’s intrigued by you. It isn’t just because you’re human, and of the people who created him, you don’t order him around like the others, you request that he do things. Each time you ask something of him, he pauses and stares at you with this blank, emotionless face that tells you he’s dissecting your every word to try and understand you.
He may be more interested in you than you think. He wants to know what makes you tick, wants to understand why you limit physical contact with him in comparison to the others, why your heart elevates when he’s within a certain proximity. He understands, to a degree, that you have an attraction to him, when your pupils dilate and you instantly flush because of all the things your imagination does when you look at him, tall, strong, and impossibly cold.
David 8 was created to run experiments, above all else. He’s programmed to run test after test until the results produced are identical and he has an answer. This is why you suddenly find yourself always close to him. His hearing is perfect, yet he will lean in to listen to you talk, and when asking you questions pertaining to the jobs needed doing, he will always be within a few feet, precariously close to touching you. You, of course, cannot stand these close quarters and start to seek shelter in larger spaces, to which he expresses concern, pressing a supportive hand on your back and a palm to your forehead to check your exact temperature with a quick scan.
In all honesty, you want to run away, to hide in mortification because you’re so stupidly turned on right now that you know the second his sensors pick it up. He may be an android, but he has been taught emotion and learned a few things of his own. The second his scanners catch note of your spike in pheromones, his expressionless eyes, previously showing only the slightest edge of concern, go wide. You try to leave, to escape in order to regather yourself into a more controlled state of mind, but when you turn, he’s holding your wrist.
For an android to ‘lash out’ like this, it is something dire, enough for you to stop where you are and stare right back at him as he continues to run scans over your body that you can’t even see. His lips will part, once he realizes his scans hold truth, and he will scowl with only his brows, a small furrow that barely puckers the space between his eyes, and say your rank and name softly under his breath.
Shamed, when you look down, you expect him to leave. A service bot has no place in the bedroom, they are meant only for the labs. You nearly jump out of your skin when he suddenly steps in close and reaches out. His hands are warm, not the warmth of a human, but a sharp, robotic warmth that comes with the heat that leaks out of his synthetic skin from all of the different bits of equipment underneath that work to keep him running. When you look up, its hard to remember that he isn’t human - unable to look away from his thin, soft mouth and strong jawline. His high cheekbones reflect the light of the ship, eyes hooded and flickering every now and then, their color a pale aqua that alternates between blue and green, depending on the day.
“David…” You croak, feeling yourself tense, the gentle weight of his soft fingers around your wrist like some kind of cuff that you can’t escape. Hearing his name seems to pull him out of the emotional lag that his processors have gone under, and he’s crowding you up against the nearest wall, walking you back until there is nothing but a hard surface bumping against your shoulders and bottom. You’ve become robbed of breath, watching his other hand rise up until its suddenly cupping your cheek. He is silent, observing the reaction as you resist the desire to lean into the touch. He increases the pressure, thumb stroking along your cheek until your eyes fall shut and you allow the moment to happen.
You don’t think to look at him right away, not until you feel his mouth against yours, lips soft - painfully realistic to a point where you don’t even think to resist. You bring an arm up, unsure of what to do with it, and gasp into his mouth when he guides your hand to his shoulder, palm still cupping your jaw while he rests his other hand on the swell of your hip. You forget how to speak, mouth parting far too eagerly when he presses in close, suckling your bottom lip as if tasting a fruit for the first time.
It isn’t long before he’s guiding you to your chambers, locking the door manually to prevent intruders, and then stripping you. His eyes remain observant, void of any emotion except keen, distant interest when he feels every inch of flesh exposed, testing its softness and weight beneath his manufactured fingers. He guides you to the bed soon after, taking only a moment to divest himself of the standard issued uniform, and seems taken aback when you express surprise at the sheer size of his endowment. You realize that he may have been assigned to the ship as a service bot, but he was also designed for pleasure, given that his cock hangs thick and heavy between two perfect legs.
He seems oblivious to it, reaching out to touch you again even as his own body reacts with an interest that you honestly weren’t anticipating. His lips touch your throat and you feel his hot, hard length twitch and grow from where it has pressed into your upper thigh. He wastes no time in taking you apart, each touch of his lips and fingers precise, searching for those bits of skin that make you react with gasps and moans. He isn’t a lust-driven monster, and so he takes his time in memorizing every inch of you, kissing and suckling each nipple, lapping at the aureola and watching them harden in response. He kisses down to your navel, mesmerized by the way you pant for air in a way that has him touching your ribs reverently with each rise and fall.
When he reaches between your legs, his touch is one of precision, mouth wet and hot as he slowly tries to undo you and make you writhe in ecstasy while he uses his fingers to open you up beneath him.
There’s no need for protection, not when he admits that you are the only crew member he would willingly lie with, that you are the only one worth this new experience. He says this as he guides his cock inside of you with one hand holding the base, while the other supports his weight above you. You barely have a chance to say much else when the head of his thick, perfect length pushes in the first few inches, hot and so painfully filling that you can’t do much else besides groan and drop your head back against the bed.
He pants, though he doesn’t need to breathe, and hooks his palm behind your knee, guiding it over his shoulder at the same time he bends down and slides completely home inside of you.
At first, he doesn’t move, watching your every twitch and shudder while you adjust to his size, observing and making absolute sure that you are in no amount of pain when he draws back and snaps his hips forward. Your head spins and you cry out in surprise, pleasure flaring deep inside of you. He leans down, rocking forward in two slow thrusts before he repeats the action with more force, capturing your mouth in a kiss that muffles the next moan you can’t stop from escaping.
“I can feel you,” he rasps into your lips, thrusting faster with a perfect rhythm that could only be accomplished by a machine. You exhale weakly, mind muddled in a haze of pleasure when he grins and leans back, hips pistoning because he isn’t human and he doesn’t grow tired. Each buck and snap of his body pulls his cock out to the head before driving right back in, and you clutch to the bed sheets because you can’t control the rising fire of orgasm that starts to come so quickly you’re nearly blindsided when he reaches down to touch the ache between your legs, fingers barely brushing you whenever you cry out and your body jerks and arches.
Each pulse of your climax makes your body shudder painfully, legs jerking and twitching because he has yet to stop, milking your orgasm with every throw thrust and flick of his wrist until you can barely breathe, and the only sound that leaves you is a series of whimpering squeaks. You finally pry your eyes open through the last series of shudders to see him watching you heatedly, still sliding in and out of you with slow, languid rolls of his hips until he closes his eyes and drops his head back, fingers tightening from where they’ve been gripping to your thigh and hip. His legs shake, but he’s silent as he fucks into you through his own orgasm, mouth barely parted and silent, because he’s never truly experienced so many sensations.
When he finally stills, he doesn’t collapse on top of you, he looks down at you quietly, head tilting to the side and watching his cock pull out of your body wetly. He bends down, thumbing bits of his synthetic cum as it leaks out of you and then standing to cross the room to the washing chambers, returning quickly to wipe your body down until you are just as clean as you were before he had bedded you.
He seems unsure of the next step, and you hold your arms out, beckoning him into the bed. He comes without argument, long and muscular arms wrapping around you when you say, quietly, “I could do that again,” with a contented sigh.
He doesn’t speak, not at first, but when he does, it is done with as much conviction as any opinion he forms.
“I would not be opposed…”