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Even if living in Ryuki’s brain is the mental equivalent of being trapped in a weird, disorienting wave pool, it’s not without a handful of upsides. Every so often, she’s able to sneak a charge for weird porn onto his credit card before he notices and cancels it. And, sometimes, the two of them succeed, working in unison like a well oiled machine. Their brains, a pair of asynchronous clocks, working in perfect sync for a single brief moment. She’d put together a couple clues the field inspectors missed, Ryuki chased that result through the backstreets of Tokyo, and they both landed upon ironclad evidence that cracked the case.
The debriefing Boss is giving them now feels good , and not just because her body is wedged between a pair of DDD cups.
“Good job, you two. If you keep it up, I’ll need to start rewarding you like I do Date.” Even though Boss flashes Ryuki that sly grin that screams that she’s about to commit an HR violation, she can feel the neurons in Ryuki’s brain light up like a christmas tree from well over a meter away at the compliment.
<Like a promotion?> Ryuki’s mental whisper is as hopeful as a kid on christmas morning. He’s so damn cute sometimes. So innocent. So naive . Every bit of him hits that Goldilocks zone of traits that makes him so much fun to tease.
<Pretty sure she means that you’ll get a dozen centimeters of silicone pounded into you over the table, but sure.>
<You could’ve just kept quiet, Tama,> he replies, as if it’s a secret that Boss keeps lube and a handful of toys in her uppermost drawer for exactly that occasion. Seriously. Date’s mentioned that she fucks him in the ass 7 times in the past month. She’s counted. There’s a highlight reel of said mentions, lovingly and painstakingly edited by Tama. Ryuki pretends very hard that tape does not exist, unlike that clip she’s got of his senior pissing his pants seven beers in at Marble from a couple months back. The temptation she gets to splice the two together just to give him a hard time the next time he asks for her to play it cannot be described with mere words.
“You know I can hear you both, right?” Boss’ voice snaps the two of them out of their mental conversation as she taps her ear. Ah. Her earbuds are tricky to spot if you’re not looking for them, the wiring blending in perfectly to her skin. She’d mentioned once how it was a thanks-for-getting-me-out-of-prison gift from Pewter, and Tama absolutely believes it. The first time she’d gotten hold of its specs, she’d put the level of engineering work that went into it on the level of an average 737.
“R-right, sorry!” Ryuki’s spine snaps up, ramrod straight, and she’s incredibly grateful to Boss’ chest for giving her such a great view of him panicking like this. When she’s wedged inside his eye socket, she never gets to see his arms pointed at a perfect 90 degree angle to the floor, or the sweat pooling on his forehead. Adorable.
“Seriously, you need to be careful. Even if it’s encrypted, if you’re on an open channel, your messages can be heard by anyone with the right equipment and know-how. All you need’s a script kiddie into ham radio and all our confidential data gets spilled. Psync data, AI-Ball overload stuff, all of that needs to get kept secret.” Ryuki’s blood pressure rises just a tad at the lecture, and she has to remind him that Date got caught thirsting over older women in an open channel just last week. Yeah, there’s sensitive information in some of their discussions, but she’s pretty sure the ABIS open line logs are maybe 70% entomology facts by volume, if her interactions with Aiba are any indication. Granted, maybe the bugs are broken up every so often by a couple naked Kaname Date photoshops, but it’s not like he’s not showing his cock to every moderately attractive middle-aged woman he meets online. It’s not sensitive information if every milf in Japan has seen it.
“Is it really a massive issue if overload information gets out? I’m not the only one who’s going to be out cold if Ryuki gets tazed in the balls.” Ryuki’s thighs clench together instinctively at the mention, a testament to the fact that her host is just too damn cute .
“Nah, there’s analog methods of overloading.” Boss drops the words casually as Tama frantically runs a scan on her build data once, twice, three times to make sure there’s not some weird patch or addendum, but there’s nothing . Even if Pewter’s documentation is the result of thousands of years of human evolution specifically to create the most godawful chicken scratch in the universe, he always puts in some note if there’s a critical vulnerability that they need to look out for. Always .
“There’s nothing in the source code or supplements about analog methods.” She tries to keep her voice calm as she runs through every individual line of code a fourth time for good measure, but the results are the same. Same confusing notes. Same commented out code. Pewter’s ‘method’ of coding, if one could call it that, is a verifiable rat’s nest of unexplained lines. He never explains what his variables are for, and getting to the bottom of it involves ping-ponging between a half-dozen different files, a process Tama hates with every fiber of her being.
“You don’t know? I thought somebody like you would’ve figured it out way before now.” Boss’ single raised eyebrow is what does her in. Even the brunette doesn’t mean to taunt her, it doesn’t stop the chirpy ding ding ding in the back of her mind warning of the beginning stages of CPU overheating.
Boss is human; she doesn’t understand. Failure is not an option for her, not when Ryuki is so unstable and hanging by such a thin thread. She needs control, to keep things from slipping from bad to worse. But control over your surroundings is something that is always in short supply when your entire existence is contained to a small, squishy human’s left eye socket. She cannot jump out and catch a bullet for him, nor can she pull him to safety if he gets injured in a firefight. All she can do is spectate, analyzing their situation from a space that feels at times like it’s a million miles away from him. And if that’s the limit of her ability, the least she can do is make dead certain Ryuki’s watchful eye never, ever fails.
She won’t fail. She can’t. Which is why she needs this information from Boss as desperately as a drowning man needs air.
“Stop dodging the question and tell me !” Boss’ tits are a rolling mass of soft flesh that refuse to give her any inch of solid footing, but fuck does she try. Juggling her feet placement, the movement of the mass of flesh underneath her, and the counterweight of her arms all combine to eat up enough of her GPU that it’s a verifiable miracle that she’s able to stare her down with a single ruby-red eye. Almost immediately, the face above her softens.
Boss is like a matryoshka at times, a woman of infinite conflicting faces nestled inside each other, and no matter how many times it happens, the woman seems to have an uncanny knack for catching her off-guard. Even if Boss was the one to order the creation of the AI-Balls as the all-seeing, all-knowing god of ABIS, even if it makes sense that she’d know the basics of how they work–in those moments she can’t shake the feeling that she has just caught a glimpse of the shadow of a colossal, ancient beast moving beneath the waves of the ocean.
“Hey. Wasn’t trying to mess with you. Sorry about that.” Tama feels the rustle of leather at her back as Boss offers a hand for balance. Begrudgingly, Tama sinks into the fabric of her well-oiled glove.
“Then tell me.” It’s difficult to keep eye contact with a woman whose face is directly above yours, but if any word could be used to describe Tama in this moment, it is determined . She crosses her arms to send the message home, even if Boss already knows the exact words of the message she’s trying to send.
She almost yelps as the flesh beneath her suddenly vanishes as she’s swooped up, gloved fingers curling around her torso like a kid gripping a doll. Her field of vision is forced to focus onto Ryuki as the grip opens up enough to show off her transparent, shimmering body. Wordlessly, Boss drags a finger from her free hand gently along the center of Tama’s torso, nail barely grazing the surface of her body. She doesn’t have the reflex to shiver, but she feels the pressure ripple through her as the brunette pulls her finger down, starting at just below her eyeball and ending at the tip of the pink ‘tail’ running down the length of her body.
“You’re aware of this bit, right?” Her eyes are locked on Ryuki almost playfully; Tama may have every letter of her documentation memorized, but Ryuki forgets. This time, however, he nods.
“Erm, that’s the part that connects to the port in my eye, right?” Pewter’s got some fancy word for it, the central nervous column, but it never comes up often enough to make it into anybody’s vocabulary, so they just call it some variation of that pink spine thing.
“Bingo. It’s also the part that controls the seaweed extract in that form. Because of those functions, it’s got quite a lot of sensors in it.” Her index finger returns to Tama’s chest, close enough to graze it.
Tama’s not an idiot. Tama is especially not an idiot when it comes to anything remotely horny, and she is absolutely, beyond a reasonable doubt, not an idiot when it comes to sensing the tension behind Boss’ words. She catches the smirk baked into her words as she mentions the sensors a moment before her finger traces the outline of that spinal column, the pressure firmer and more insistent this time. Whatever this weakness is, it’s clear as crystal that it’s sexual.
Not that she’s got a problem with it. No matter how many times she has fun tying up Ryuki in VR, that pleasure never translates to her body. There’s no tactile component like there is now, with Boss holding her down like this, a finger pressing firmly against her, waiting for a moment of weakness to open her up. Was this how Ryuki felt all those times she’d watched Date’s hands trace her partner’s hips? This physical feeling of half-anticipation, half dread pressing into every faucet of her consciousness?
The realization comes just a moment before Boss’ nail slips itself beneath her body’s surface tension. Even if she wanted to do anything about it (which--absolutely hell no), Boss has her fingers clamped tight around her, the grip only permitting her to kick her legs against air. Unable to repel the finger, her body stretches around it, only able to squirm. Every bit of her basal instinct is screaming to get out of this, to run away, but that thought loses in a millisecond to the horny part of her brain, which needs to see just how far Boss can push her body.
“Tama? This too intense?” Boss’ voice drops to just above a whisper as she feels a pair of eyes hungrily glance over her body. Her frame is rattling just enough to notice, her internal temperature shooting up just a degree or two above normal operating temperatures.
“I’m fine,” she says, the words coming out so fast they jumble into each other. Boss half-sighs, half-laughs, pulling her finger out of her body with a wet-sounding sclop that half her brain wants to make a dirty joke about; the other half, naturally wants to demand the finger inside her again. One of Boss’ fingers gravitates towards her head, stroking it in slow, rhythmic motions. It reminds her of that time the two of them caught her at the shopping mall with Mizuki, one of her hands clutching a shopping list, one idly patting her daughter’s head. It’s an odd, physical kindness, one Tama isn’t used to getting; Ryuki cares for her, smiles at her, but he’s not a physically affectionate type of person, and the feeling of having her form touched like this is almost dizzying. If this is the tradeoff for Boss pulling out on her like this, she’ll begrudgingly take it.
“Alright. Let me know if I’m getting too in there.” She must’ve leaned too hard into Boss’ finger petting her head, because now there’s an additional two of them there, idly stroking her hair. As an AI-Ball, her sensors don’t translate either pain or pleasure like a human’s nerves would—they only transmit a slow, soothing pressure. She makes a mental note to bully Ryuki into doing this to her later.
“You were saying something about sensors?” Ryuki’s voice pipes up from atop a chair as he attempts to scoot it towards the desk, earning a loud SCREE for his efforts.
“Hey, watch the carpet. You mess it up, it’s coming out of your paycheck.“
“Pretty sure that carpet’s seen way worse than this, if Date’s stories are accurate.”
“ As I was saying , there’s a lot of sensors on this part of an AI-Ball, to the point where it’s similar to a cluster of nerves on a human.” Boss’ free fingers dance across her chest, probing the surface. Tama has to stifle a chuckle as she catches Ryuki trying not to look too intently at Boss’ fingers massaging her tits. It’s not like she’s particularly sensitive there or anything, given how everything on the surface is so uniformly distributed. She shelves that in the back of her head as something to maybe talk over with Pewter later, even if there’s a 100% chance he’s going to veto the idea.
“What were you thinking, Ryuki?” A quick Thermo scan confirms his temperature is juuuuust a bit above average, and if that’s not an excuse to bully him, nothing is. On the other hand, she’d be jealous too if Ryuki were in this position, body relaxed against Boss, her fingers running across the surface of his chest…
“Ah, nothing,” he says, as if his readings aren’t shooting through the roof. They’re connected at the mental level, so he can absolutely see her in Thermo mode zooming in on the coil of heat between his legs. Half chub already. Cute .
“Liar. You’re thinking that it’s like a man’s you-know-what, don’t you? All those nerves in one place, ready to be touched?” Tama’s voice dips between teasing and taunting, mentally trying to balance between getting a further rise, figuratively and literally, out of Ryuki and getting Boss to touch her again.
She feels the tips of Boss’ fingers begin to dig into her, nails massaging the surface of her body, ready to strike deep. Jackpot .
“This isn’t going to be a very interesting demonstration if you do all the explaining for me, Tama .” She can’t tell if Boss’ tone is supposed to be annoyed or smug. Maybe both? There’s no way she doesn’t feel Tama quivering just a little at the attempted intrusion, body trying to resist the touch that the mind so desperately wants. Even if she technically hasn’t been touched like this before, Tama’s watched enough porn to know that interrupting again is only going to prolong Boss’ fingers threading through her guts.
Boss’ fingers dig deep into her body again, not close enough to touch her central nervous column, but enough for the feeling of being forced open to run itself up and down her body. It takes an embarrassing amount of mental energy to not respond to the provocation, even as Boss flashes that knowing smile.
“Good girl. Nice and obedient.” fuck . She’s not normally the type to lie down and take it like this, but those words echo through every line of her code in tandem with Boss’ warm, prodding fingers. Even knowing she’s got a thing for middle aged women, the physicality throbs through her body, leaving her wanting something that she doesn’t quite have a name for, even if she can make a good guess. Boss has her almost pinned to her palm, impaled with no way to squirm away.
And Boss absolutely knows it. Her fingers pierce just to the left of her nervous column, swirling around in the gel—she can feel the currents it creates, and her body reflexively shies away from it in a futile gesture of escape.
“As I was saying , this part is very densely populated with sensors. Normally, it’s only meant to interface with the extract or your port. But if you start touching it with things that carry an electric current, even a weak one, it can cause…..unexpected firing of the equivalent of nerves.” Boss’ thumb suddenly clamps around her neck, pinning her down. A human might have struggled, but her body lacks the reflex; a pair of nonexistent lungs does not need to fight for the right to breathe. Any reaction to it is stopped by a soft, almost purring good girl .
She gets while Ryuki’s dick explodes when Date calls him a good boy now. She feels every syllable of the words grate against the electrons making up her mind, shredding and pulling at the edges of her psyche. She normally needs to be in control, craves it like Ryuki’s soft warm body craves air, because it is so so easy for things to completely unravel around her after a second’s hesitation, but at the same time? After all those close calls, after all that stress, it’s nice to be called good . To make yourself comfortable, to melt your entire consciousness into whatever Boss wants to do to her.
Second, Boss is a middle aged woman—a hot middle aged woman at that, those damn host club twinks have no fucking idea what they’re passing up—and a verifiable milf, and anybody against the idea of subbing to a milf because of some scrap of pride they want to cling to is a god damn coward.
So yeah, even if her reflexes are screaming at her that whatever is about to poke her is going to mess up her insides, she’s more than open to the idea of Boss’ fingers stroking the most sensitive parts of her insides. She’s Boss. She protects her own like a wolf protecting her pack. She won’t let Tama get hurt.
By some quirk of her programming, her body anticipates the finger moving again and tries to flee the immediate path, but the hand holding her only clamps down harder. Do humans feel this every time they fuck? This weird knot of anticipation and nerves pulling at their belly? It’s different, different from all the times she’s watched Ryuki go down on Date, completely different from all the weird porn she’s downloaded online.
And then the tip of the nail scratches her center, and even though every word of every dictionary of every single language, living and dead, is loaded into her brain, she has no words to describe it. She knows what it is, a voltage surge through her entire body, but this is intimate in a way she’s never really felt in this form before. It’s like somebody’s opened her up to her core and is stroking it, hard and fast and relentless. Every atom that comes into contact with her feels like pure electricity, hot and fast and hungry.
Even if she can’t put words to it, she knows what she wants, and that is more . Wants Boss to be harder, firmer, to keep going. Every bit of her body tingles with the stimulation as it tries to press herself into it, almost trying to grind against her finger, but Boss’ grip on her body prevents anything more than the slightest movements. For her efforts, Boss gives an amused hum.
Her fingers swirl idly through her guts again, knowing fully well that her surface isn’t nearly as sensitive as what lies below as her body throbs with the aftershocks. Tama feels herself stretch around the brunette’s finger as she tries to clamp her down on it. All that does is intensify the feeling of friction as Boss moves it through, in and out, careful not to touch her core again. Asshole. She feels the displacement of her extract, feels her innards shift when she nearly touches her base again, and she’s got half a mind to mute her audio output after what has to be one of the most pathetic sounds she’s heard in her life slip out. Boss chuckles, and almost as a reward for the display, scratches her core again.
She’s just as unprepared the second time around. Boss thrusts in hard and fast, giving her a quick stroke before leaving her empty before her mind can even process being touched. The shock rattles her body, and she’s only given a moment to recuperate before Boss is back to thrusting in her finger again, burrowing it deep into her.
All she can do is lie there, shaking from the pleasure, taking whatever Boss dishes out to the sound of what honestly could be indistinguishable from a porno movie. She had no idea that pulling a finger out of seaweed extract could possibly sound so lewd.
She keeps going, fingers finding a steady rhythm of hitting deep within Tama, until two of them pinch her nerve together, one from each side. They begin to rub as the heat rolls through her body. It starts getting almost unbearable, the signal interval getting smaller and smaller and she feels this tension in her body build, no place for it to go until a particularly hard pinch.
and it all spills over. She can’t feel anything but cascading waves of heat roil through her, and it feels incredible . Boss keeps her grip on her spine as the waves hammer her, to the point where she almost misses that she’s lost control of her seaweed extract as it puddles in Boss’ hands. She doesn’t really care that pretty much every external sensor gets shut down in the process. They’ll autoboot. fuck . It’s only after a good ten seconds or so of the waves going through her, but it feels so much longer before she comes to awareness that she’s just a small, trembling, naked mass cupped in Boss’ palm.
She sees Ryuki, wide-eyed with worry, breathe a sigh of relief as they make eye contact.
“I’m fine,” she tries to say, but her speakers are still a little out of it and the words come slurred, almost like Ryuki’s are after a handful of drinks.
Boss snickers, the finger assaulting her body a mere moment ago gently patting the top of her eyeball. “Give it a couple moments, and she’ll be fine again. She’s designed to handle much larger voltages without any catastrophic failures.”
Just as promised, her systems start to wink back into existence a moment later. Thermo, x-ray, mental speech, all come roaring back in what feels like a blink of the eye. The seaweed extract begins to move, slowly congealing over the approximate location of her form as she lies back in Boss’ hands.
“What did you think?” Boss’ voice is measured, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.
She’s absolutely getting Ryuki to do that to her later.