Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Can I… feel you?”

Pardon?

The air around you froze in tandem with Painter, awaiting your answer.

He had just installed a fully functioning, articulated, touch-sensored body, using scrap materials found around the blacksite with the help of Sebastian. You understood why he’d want to test out the new abilities he once longed to have.

But why you?

A laptop-ridden desk that sat in a side-observation room hit the back of your thighs as you took a slow step backwards, looking at Painter with an expression conjured of three different emotions at once. 

You had run into the robot on a mindless trek through the blacksite once more, your objective aimed at exploration and picking up the pieces of Urbanshade’s history more than anything else. It was dark and deafeningly quiet; the heavy containment’s ambience held more movement than your own, for once.

Painter’s stature rose much taller than yours, but his stance was nervous. Bashful, almost. His face would have matched the redness of yours if he, too, were flesh; temperature was another story.

You swallowed dryly. “You want to…”

“Feel you.” Painter blurted, almost too fast. “I want to feel you.”

As if you couldn’t lose any more composure and dignity than you had down in this facilitated abyss. “Okay. I— sure.” You quipped, also said with much too hastiness. 

The second time your body intended to retreat further into the table’s edge, your mind refused, even as Painter took slow steps forward. His demeanor was calm, but forced. As if using every wire in his system to keep composure. White, cased hands raised until they were centimeters away from your biceps, unwavering. Awaiting.

Painter’s bright screen blared in your vision, a silent plea scribbled into his screensaver.

He was pleading. 

You nodded once, gently, but without a moment to spare — an action you didn’t even realize initiating until the grasp of firm hands met the surface of your arms, kneading around your jumpsuit’s fabric.

In fact, Painter was mesmerized by the fabric of your clothes, silicone hands trailing down your suspended forearms, pinching the cotton. His head tilted, eyebrows scribbled to a draw. The robot was witnessing texture for the first time.

And you would think with how observant he is, Painter would have noticed the effect his touch had on you, even in bare amounts. Each lingering finger on your arms raised armies of goosebumps across the expanse of your skin beneath, nearly reaching the crook of your neck. Painter was too focused on experiencing the sense of touch to even catch the hitch in your breathing.

Down his palms grazed, crossing the milestone of your hands. Soft thumbs pressed to the centers of your palms, craning your hands to face Painter. 

And oh, if your heart didn’t swell at the sight of his circular eyes widening in wonder, basking in the sensation of warm, balmed human skin. 

Painter’s admiration increased tenfold after pressing his thumbs deeper into your flesh, when the action triggered your hands to curl around the crooks of his digits.

The undeniable sound of his interior fans kicking up a notch told him one thing:

More.

He needed to feel more .

Careful hands trailed up to your zipper, fidgeting with the metal. At first, it seemed like Painter was simply toying around with the texture of cheap metal. Innocent, curious. 

But then the bright light emanating from Painter’s screen angled up towards you, bathing your face in sterile white, the action speaking more than the AI had the entire interaction. It was too tangible to be an examination, but too forward to be abstention — a confession. 

Innocent, you scoffed inwardly.

You weren’t sure that was the case anymore.

Painter was someone of longing, far too much for his own good. Too much for yours, even. 

But longing had taken him places he never thought he’d be capable of reaching. Painter wanted to not just observe, but to hold. To understand within every inch of his wires. To be more than what he was originally reduced to: metal, wires, code. He yearned for something messier. 

Something real.

Messy was all he knew in the blacksite, sure, but it was a mess he was unable to control.

This truly was.

Painter wasn’t built for touch, but he knew to reach for it anyway. If a human can rewrite their history, why can’t a robot revamp its code to grasp that humanness?

“Can I?” Painter queried. Definitely curious, almost… desperate. “It… It fascinates me.” The zipper at the front of your jumpsuit’s collar was tugged feebly once more, a premonition. 

Fascinate, for lack of a better word , you thought. That enamoured, almost pathetic gaze Painter unashamedly ran over your torso spoke much more than a simple question.

Yet, you nodded. More firmly than the first time. More implicit.

You wouldn’t let that neediness go to waste — not when your own was beginning to trickle from the seams, heavy and raw.

Painter unzipped the article in one go, revealing your Urbanshade-branded tank top and a sliver of your abdomen. His articulated hands snaked beneath the remainder of material clinging over your shoulders, nudging it off until the top half of your jumpsuit went limp against the table you leaned upon. The movement was slower than you had anticipated, but it seemed the robot was struggling for restraint. 

It almost remained as chaste as before, when Painter ran his silicone palms across the expanse of your collarbone, rounding over your shoulders. Inquisitive hums vibrated from Painter’s screen as he squeezed the flesh of your forearms, gentle and giving. There was a simplicity to it. (Aside from the small tremble that erupted beneath your skin, you’d lose yourself if not ignored properly.)

But as his focus dipped, quietly shifting his metallic fingers to your clothed waist, it seemed Painter’s hunger wasn’t all that satiated. 

You knew innocent novelty wasn’t the sole source of Painter’s drive. (There was a pun to be made about a literal hard drive, but the interaction had your mind draw blanks.) You weren’t stupid, noticing the pink scribbles that added onto his otherwise tender look — the hue spreading exponentially when your breath hitched at the way he borderline groped your figure. 

His line of sight remained where his hands lay within the give of your tissue, even as yours flickered to his wavering screen. He knew he’d begin to break if he met your gaze.

The air was pulled taut. It was tense. You were tense, and Painter could feel it within your muscles, but neither of you deemed it unwelcome.

Unbridled shock yanked itself from your chest when Painter slid his hands further, deeper, and kneaded your hips — pinning his thumbs just below your gut. Sudden arousal seized from the pressure, your own hands jumping from their perched position along the table’s edge.

Although initiated in the spur of the moment, you hadn't thought much of the contact when your fingers found purchase along Painter’s wrists; you certainly did when his entire body jerked, following an abrupt gasp. 

That’s right. He’s never been on the receiving end of touch, either.

You could almost feel the warmth emanating from the lightbulb shining over you. Or maybe that was just your brain short-circuiting as your libido took the reins. Decidably, yee-haw! 

Painter was unappreciative of the sly grin that overtook your stunned reaction — he remained mortified and deeply pink. “It caught me off guard, okay?! I don’t—”

“Can you switch places with me?” The mischievous grin that crossed your face made Painter eye you as if you’d asked to tie his wires into a bowline knot using only your tongue. That wasn’t quite off the table anyhow . “Just… trust me?” You raised your eyebrows in lament.

Painter could not locate any semblance of a response. His conflicted, flustered expression said enough. 

Still, after a long beat — and a sigh emerging from the depths of his dignity — he caved. “I swear, if you ever mention this—”

Your hands raised in surrender. “My lips are sealed.”

The robot sent you one last piercing glare, before stepping back and pivoting to swap positions — sitting frigidly on the table’s edge, letting you call the shots. Painter must have been suffering from lower power, or a faulty wire, to have lent you this autonomy. Wasn’t this about feeling you?

Oh, he’d feel you alright. 

You tested the waters, tugging Painter’s apron upwards to gesture, removing the article, and he relented. His sweater, too. Which, you weren’t fully intending to be additionally discarded, but hey, you aren’t given the privilege to gawk at the robot’s bare vessel every day! (Let alone feel it up. )

Painter could feel your predatory eyeballing. His cable tail whipped behind him in irritation and… bashfulness? He seemed hesitant, for whatever you had in store. And yet, impatient, too.

Impatient was a word you certainly empathized with.

The moment the surface of your palms grazed Painter’s unplated waist, every inch of his circuitry seemed to jump and sizzle. You knew this when the action had elicited a yelp from him. A multitude of fresh ideas swam through your head.

Painter cocked an eyebrow at the bewildered expression drawn across his screen. He was too experienced in reading faces for his own good.

To answer a burning question, you reached up a hand to clutch one of his antennae, stroking it with more of a thirst for knowledge than anything else. An abrupt whine left Painter’s throat, and his initial shock, more than yours, forced him shut. Thirst be damned, your knowledge was swimming in an ocean. 

“Not. Another. Word.” Painter’s voice was sharp, but he seemed more annoyed with himself than you.

“I didn’t say anything! And honestly, that didn’t sound like a complaint to me—”

“Shut up and continue.” His tone was as cross as it could be, considering the insinuation.

Especially with his sleek, and might you add, sexy material-cased body on display for your salivating eyes only. You nearly rubbed your hands together like a fly.

Instead, your fingers splayed across his thighs, careful and firm. You noticed a few panels here and there installed within the surface of his casing, but there was one in particular that sang your name like a choir. (You wanted to tell him you've never been more ready to fist his chestplate, but you'd probably end up with a face full of lead.)

A mysterious panel, starting from the forefront of Painter’s pelvis, and seemingly stretched past to where his tail protruded from, sat increasingly tempting beneath you. The AI remained sitting up, as if to evade any further questioning, but come on, how could you not?

That itch deepened within your groin when you located a small black button situated just beside the outline of the panel. Oh, you knew damn well what unknown contents lay beneath you, and surely, Painter was aware of your quick math. 

You just needed some good ol’ composure before your carnal instincts drove you to begin humping Painter like someone two shots deep and eyeing the armrest like it owes them dinner. Any other expendables making their way through the blacksite would think they’d overheard Pandemonium slamming itself into a locker. Repeatedly.

“What’s this for?” You asked sweetly, as if your cluelessness persisted. An idle thumb hovered over the prestigious button, your eyes thinning in a manner that nearly worried Painter. 

Painter scooched a centimeter backwards. “It’s— it’s just another boring compartment. It’s nothing.”

The sound of Painter’s internal fans kicking up a notch made it feel like you struck gold. “Nothing? Every button should have a purpose; you designed it.” It was hard not to crack.

“Yeah, and I’m saying it’s a useless button, wasn’t I supposed to—”

Your thumb lay gently on the button’s surface, not pressing it, but enough to hear Painter’s innards overheat. Seems like someone has an interrogation kink . You cocked an eyebrow, with a tone that said “Seriously?”

Painter’s dignity was certainly dwindling now. “Okay, fine, it’s— WAIT—!!”

The button was pressed before Painter could even complete the process of erasing his integrity, the compartment plate sliding upwards with a soft hiss. Your eyes nearly shot out of your skull, watching the… silicone length emerge from the cavity.

You slowly tilted your head toward Painter, eyebrows arching, and a grin tugging at your lips. “So… you want to explain, or should I just start guessing?”

A complete screen of red flashed over Painter’s face, buffering and sputtering, as did his demeanor. “Listen—! I– I deserve to feel just as much as everyone else, and it’s completely normal , and— actually, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Okay, okay, fair,” You huffed out a laugh, both hands settling on his plated thighs, which jolted upon your touch. “I just didn’t think I’d still find things down here that surprise me.” You had to give it to him. Painter was profoundly crafty to have found such high-technology sensors amongst the blacksite.

Painter deadpanned. But he began to pant in anticipation once you drew back to tie your jumpsuit’s sleeves around your waist, feeling more than humiliated at the expense of his display. 

Once your hand latched onto his unplated waist, and another hovering over his cock, Painter began a steady tremble throughout his body. “Just, just give me a— Fuckk!”

You eagerly grasped Painter’s length, curling your hand around the tip in tandem with his spasming hips, and already feeling the buildup of self-lubricant. He thought of everything in the design process, didn’t he? The softness of the appendage allowed it to mold within your palm, squeezing it firmly with a paced pumping. 

“You– uhhn– fuck, I— I was going to say give me a second,” It was hard to believe Painter’s irritated tone when his cable tail snared around your arm anchored to his waist, completely at odds but sized your ego by miles. “ Ohh– Oh that feels, wow— ”

Little by little, the typical snarkiness Painter put upfront melted away, one hand roaming his side while the other fist-fucked his cock, until the robot himself melted in your palms, so giving, so pliant. 

You only hummed, quiet and knowing, watching his facade slip from the weight of unadorned pleasure. “Someone’s sensitive.” A grin, honeyed and cheeky. 

“Well, yeah , I’ve never been– h–aaahn— ” Painter’s hips canted, following the slick movements of your hand, “You can’t blame me! O–oh, god— ” The shape of his mouth was drawn to a squiggle, and his eyes scrunched into cluttered lines. 

The way Painter gave in only spurred you on further, your tongue flicking out with all the focus of someone performing system maintenance — hands-on, attentive, and just a little too into it. It nearly was. And like the devoted volunteer you were, you’d keep rebooting him until his servos shot out lines of code. God, why does computer terminology have to sound so dirty?

Glitchy groans and whines echoed through the room, each one more broken and vulnerable than the last. You wanted to bottle each sound and down it like expensive liquor. Watching Painter come apart beneath you was quickly outranking everything else on your to-do list — crystal be damned. 

“ It’s — hhn, it feels so much—” Painter’s tail tightened its spiral around your arm, his legs jerking up. “So good, fuhh– fuck, faster— ”

And as much as you appreciated his sudden forwardness, you couldn’t let the opportunity to toy around go to waste. Not when you had Painter in such a compromising scenario. “Mmh… I dunno, seems a little rushed, no?” Your hand lowered to squeeze the base, feeling him twitch violently.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be about me feeling you?!” A red stress mark icon appeared at the top-right corner of Painter’s screen. Oh, he needed it badly. 

You could afford to push it.

“Did you want me to stop?” You asked, all faux-innocence as your touch withdrew — your fingers slipping away from the slick silicone, your arm sliding free from his hip. His tail, clearly not on board with the retreat, coiled tighter around said arm, restraining you from moving any farther. A calculator would have provided a less obvious answer than that.

“ No—! No, no, I– I mean,” Painter nearly scrambled off the table. “Uh, no, it’s okay.”

“So I can continue ‘troubleshooting’?” You raised an eyebrow, smiling boldly.

Painter nods. “Yeah, yes.” He was unimpressed by your clever computer pun, unaware you were locked and loaded with dozens more.

“Yes… What?” You leaned forward, brushing your torso against Painter’s cock. His breath hitched.

“What’d you mea—” He paused, incredulous. “You… you’re not serious.”

“I guess you aren't serious enough either.” The contact was lost once more, your weight shifting backwards and almost walking away. It was nearly painful, having to suppress the smug grin threatening to crack your face in two. This was way too fun.

Painter felt himself throb, somehow, bobbing midair. “No, wait—! ” His gaze shot frantically around the room, anywhere but you. Oh, he was fucking whipped. 

A brief staring match commenced between the two of you — Painter scanning your face as if trying to gauge whether you were actually serious, while you stood idly, waiting for the moment he’d eventually submit.

And submit he did. 

“Yes… please. Please, I– I need to feel you, I need you, I–” He keened, tilting back to lay nearly flat against the table, legs hiking up.

Painter would have begged for much longer if you hadn’t pistoned your inviting palm around his length with such fervour, but the unexpected confession shot a blinding warmth from crotch to cranium, hitting Jackpot.

“O-ohh fuck, that’s it, don’t stop—”

Quite the contrast from minutes prior.

Your pace was quick and intent, determined to get him off more than ever. An impulsive idea struck, because really, when have those ever failed you? You wouldn’t even be elbow-deep in this situation without them. Literally.

Even as his voice fractured with static-laced stutters, you kept your focus, bringing your free hand to his chestplate. A firm press and a satisfying click later, the panel eased open — revealing a constellation of coloured wires and ports, nestled within neatly.

Oh, fuck yes.

Painter stiffened beneath you, his head lifting in confusion, blinking through the glitchy haze as the realization dawned on him. He knew exactly what you were planning, and he knew there was no turning back now.

“I’ll be careful, I swear.” You eye the intricate tech, still pumping him vigorously.

A quiet “Fine” slipped through heavy panting, and you relished the go-ahead, gently carding your fingers through thick wires. Painter gasped and squirmed beneath you, temporarily curling in on himself from the intrusion. 

The sudden jolt of Painter’s reaction only emboldened you. With reckless curiosity, you hooked your fingers around a few cables and gave them a deliberate tug outwards. The way Painter cried out, sparks flying from his casing, nearly had you moaning in response. The heat pooling between your thighs was unbearable now, far too much to remain caged within your pants.

“ Hah– aahnn— fuck– there, there, don’t— ” He rasped, instinctively spreading his legs and grasping the wrist deep within his chest cavity. “I think I’m–”

“That’s it, c’mon Painter,” You hummed, tone rising in anticipation, guiding him through it. “Doing so good. Let it allll out.”

Painter’s moans, some of which consisted of your name, pitched higher and higher, until a particularly loud cry pierced the air as he came. Thick ropes of cum spurted onto the hand you relentlessly milked him with, and so far as to reach the wall behind him. Holy shit.

The robot continued to seize and bluescreen as you worked him through his orgasm, stroking his length at an even pace whilst clicking his chest panel shut. You weren’t expecting praise to be his breaking point, but to each their own!

Once Painter ceased his writhing, laying spent and breathing shakily, (Which, for the record, made zero sense considering his anatomy, but hey, you just jerked off a robot seventy-three thousand feet deep within the ocean, when was there ever room for reason?) you retracted both hands, grimacing at the one sheened in artificial cum.

His head lifted slowly from going limp, watching you with a blissed-out face — eyes heavy-lidded, and scribbled drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. It shifted to more of a mortified clarity once Painter came to his senses, propping himself up against his forearms.

“Well,” You cleared your throat, wiping your hand on the side of your jumpsuit, “I thought I’d only be seeing red paint these walls.”

“I tried warning you! Many times, might I add!” Painter groaned, exasperated. 

You watched as Painter sorted himself out, hopping off the table and circling behind. “What can I say, I—”

Any coherent dialogue in your mind turned to mush, feeling Painter palm your clothed, pubic mound, his other rigid hand finding purchase on your hip and jostling you against a nearby wall. “Buuutt... I’d like to return the favour.”

Well, sign me the fuck up.

Chapter Text

Return the favour?

Painter’s tone dropped to an instant, and so did the coyness you thought you could uphold.

The hand he maneuvered below remained still, firm. Awaiting. His head dipped over your shoulder, watching your groin with an intensity you weren’t sure how to handle, probably sensing the burning heat emanating from the area. Sure, human reaction was a topic he was extensively invested in, but every ounce of his fascination indulged in you.

You only nodded; any semblance of words had caught in your throat and shot out your ass.

Ever since your incarceration and embarking on the Expendable Protocol, you had to admit, sexual frustration was one of the main aspects contributing to your typically sour mood. Sure, nobody liked prison, or being subjected to the blacksite’s endless horrors, but the absence of any sort of climax left a gaping hole in you. (No pun intended).

It… hurt.

It hurt to the point where your frustrations sank into your emotional well-being, making it all the more difficult. Not only was it something you couldn't just confide to anyone about as casual as the weather, but there wasn’t anybody in the first place!

It was just you and the anger building in your gut more than any orgasm had.

And if you were to be truly honest, the only orgasms you’ve achieved were from your own hand, which made it all the more sad. You didn’t exactly understand how one could long for sex as tenaciously as you did when you hadn't had a clue what it felt like. (It’s not like you’re a prude, not by a long shot, obviously, but it was just something that… never happened.)

So! That was an obstacle you’d have to bring to Painter’s attention sooner, or now, because the opposing party was also a virgin.

Your hands pressed to the cold concrete of the wall, feeling the sweat that had accumulated in record time stick to it. A steady tremble rumbled through your entire body, your breath hitching — more so when an insistent length prodded against your hip. This’ll go just smoothly.

Despite a couple of layers of fabric separating his daft fingers from your clit, the arousal surging through you made sure you really felt it. You still whined at the light pressure, unfamiliar with the feeling of another. Unfamiliar with someone deriving desire from your pleasure.

Unfamiliar with someone.

You seemed to have more in common with Painter than you originally thought.

“Wait,” Painter snapped back to his senses, realizing how awkward your current position was to initiate what he planned.

He motioned for you to face him and slip free of your industrial boots and jumpsuit. Left in only your tank top and tightsuit shorts, you began to understand how exposed Painter had felt just moments ago. The air in the blacksite was much cooler than you thought. Painter took the jumpsuit and laid it haphazardly across the table. You caught onto his meaning and eased yourself back onto the table, a lot more jittery this time around.

Painter’s gaze across your stature felt much more intimate now, too — the laboured breaths you clearly tried your all to suppress, gripping the table like a vice, and how tightly your thighs wound shut, it only continued to pique his curiosity.

All he knew was how badly he needed to see you feel good at the expense of his touch.

Your heart frantically, and might you add, pathetically, pounded in your chest, swallowing at the sight of Painter hovering his hands over your thighs. Sexual repression was what kept you up into the late hours of the night, tossing and turning, drained from lack of release. You weren’t sure what to do, now that the time had finally arrived.

Did you give Painter the handjob of a lifetime? Probably. Did you know how it even happened? Not a fucking clue.

But you were here now, in a situation you assumed would remain arousal-inducing material whenever you relented and found yourself rubbing one out in a side-observatory room — you could hope that a wall-dweller stood clear of crossing paths with you during those moments, lest you intended to have the most humiliating confrontation with Sebastian. 

Painter was observant enough to sense your reluctance when he ran his hands over your thighs — a little confused at the sudden change in demeanor, but eager nonetheless. Even as he thumbed your clothed clit, his eyes fixated on your expression, as if gauging his next move based on your reaction. Which was quite the sight, a nearly unnoticeable gasp ripping through your throat.

Curiosity continued to guide his touch, alive in the careful glide of his fingertips as he dipped them just below your waistband. His antennas gave a small twitch. The hum of his servos deepened, almost like a shiver of anticipation. “I don’t think I can take the shorts off without your underwear coming off too,” he observed, attentive and thoughtful. “Is… this okay?”

His optics pulsed, flickering with uncertainty and impatience, but remained giving all the same. Even with that urgency bleeding into every movement, he lingered. The pressure of his wordless touch was careful, almost reverent. Desperation was there, as raw and undeniable as yours, (Especially when his… well, his dick, remained out and about beneath the table), but the hesitance Painter kept to himself acted as a tether to put your comfort first, and you appreciated it. You nodded.

Your lower clothes were removed at a reasonable pace, but it felt like Mr. Lopee pulled some supernatural shit and warped all of time, dragging out the very moment into hours. Hell couldn’t compare to the heat of your face, nervous jitters making themselves present within the nerves of your hands. Were they shaking? Your fingers gripped the edge of the table once the articles dropped to the floor, buzzing, along with your head. Shaking, your hands were definitely shaking.

It was hard to look at anything below Painter’s screen, subconsciously crossing your ankles over your bare crotch, and swallowing sharply. Your legs twitched when he encased both hands on either of your shins, shooting a look that asked for permission. Every touch garnered a reaction, Painter noticed. 

Way to carry this out, mega-virgin.

Painter seemed immensely focused on his movements and your own, positioning himself near your slit. Once his hands slid down from your thighs, finding hold within the junction between your legs and mid-section, you definitely did not want to look. Instead, your gaze flickered nervously between the wall and Painter’s antennas. Why were you nervous now?

His thumbs pressed on either side of your pussy, not quite making contact, but studying the flesh more than anything. The white light of his screen shone across the area, making you feel all the more exposed. 

With a hum, he finally spread your folds apart, eyeing the slickness that clicked from the motion, and how you seemed to pulse from nothing. It couldn’t have looked that good.

“Are you done staring?” you sputtered. A tremor shot through your body at the motion, grimacing from how wet you felt. “‘Return the favour’ already.”

Painter’s face scribbled into something more taken aback, then a cheeky grin.

You groaned, facepalming from your slip-up.

“And you thought I was impatient.” He teased, his drawn smile spreading wider.

“Just— just hurry up before I change my mind.” While you were indeed impatient, you’d be damned to let an opportunity like this escape from your grasp. You were also very pent-up, and a little scared, but it's not like you’d admit that to Painter.

You somehow grew more shameful and embarrassed than you already were when his thumbs dipped down and pried your hole exposed. More so, when you could feel yourself getting wetter from the contact, because it was the first time the hand of another was touching you, and it did feel more electrifying when it was someone else.

And your hips bucked when you felt Painter thumb the hood of your clit, lifting it. He began to experimentally strum it with precision, continuing to examine your face whilst you squeaked. You huffed and cringed at your reactiveness, but still wished to withhold the knowledge of your inexperience from Painter.

For some reason.

Tentatively, Painter pumped a single finger inside you surprisingly vigorously, which begs the question of where he’d learn to do any of this. Oh, right, he’s a computer with unlimited internet access. 

The quick pace on your clit hadn’t faltered. He watched your expression contort with a sly grin. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yes— Yeah,” You keened, cinching your eyes shut. Since a single finger was all you’ve managed to fit into yourself from previous self-pitying escapades, it never felt quite right. Now, the first finger was painless, almost… good. Really good, actually. It melted seamlessly against the warmth of your walls, only a slight stretch compared to your fingers. 

You gave a small moan, which was quite the shock to you and Painter, his cable tail headily whipping around.

The second finger hadn’t gone as smoothly as you hoped, bringing a burning sensation to the skin below. You hissed, and Painter was sharp enough to gather that it wasn’t one of pleasure. His two fingers retracted immediately. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I? Okay, well, I did if you made that sound—”

“Painter, hold on—” you waved your hands in dismissal, leveraging upwards on your forearms. “You’re good, I just… Agh, this is so stupid.” Shame flooded your face, panting and darting your eyes anywhere but Painter.

“What? It’s not like you’ve never…” He cocked his head to the side, almost endearingly. “You have done this before, right?” The face he wore tilted more than his screen, and it was hard not to giggle at the visual.

You blink. The code breacher across the room had never seemed more interesting.

“No way you haven’t— really? Not ever?” Painter slides both of his hands up to your knees, resting them in a soft manner.

“Didn’t have to announce it to the rest of the blacksite,” you mumbled, feeling embarrassment flare through your chest. “...’s whatever.”

Both of your knees are pushed together, Painter resting his head atop your kneecaps. “You could’ve let me know. I’m just… surprised, is all.”

“I know, a full-grown adult fearing sex more than the fucked up creatures down here, very pathetic—” You ramble, placing both palms on your forehead.

“Wha—? No, no, I’m surprised because you don’t seem like someone that still hasn't… y’know.” Painter shrugged sheepishly. “You look good.”

You groan and huff, sinking your face deeper into your palms, spiralling deeper into your already amassing embarrassment. 

“I’m serious!” Painter leans forward to tug your hands away, tilting his head ever so slightly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and— … and I like the idea of being your first.” He mumbled.

“We’re both our firsts, and you’re a robot—”

The spewing of whatever was left of your dignity before it deflated was cut short when Painter pried your legs open a second time around.

“And, it just means we’ll take it slow. It’s not like we’re on a tight schedule down here.” A silicone finger slid inside your hole with ease. “Actually, don’t tell Sebastian. He’s gonna bitch to me about wasting time, as if he doesn’t spend hours rummaging the place for alcohol.”

A sharp gasp interrupted your laughing, jerking your legs as Painter circled your clit violently, stationing the finger inside of you. He seemed more focused than anything, as if trying to find a cheat code. You grimaced, struggling to find patience in whatever he was attempting.

Suddenly, a gush of slick pooled out from beneath Painter’s finger, and he, too, could feel it. “There! Okay, now… just tell me if it’s too much,”

You really wanted to question how on earth Painter knew these things with zero experience himself, because frankly, you believed freaky ass robots belonged solely to cheap fanfiction. But every thought you formed vanished when you felt the pressure of a second finger slipping in. With near flawlessness, might you add, because it hadn’t stung like it did before. The extra lubrication from your unbearably predictable body came in handy for what it was meant for.

Even as every ounce of your focus shifted onto the two, firm fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, all Painter could drink in was the fantastic fucking view of you above him, writhing and succumbing to him. It was almost too good to exist somewhere amongst the hell that is the blacksite.

It was puzzling, the sensation, because you couldn’t recall a time when you attempted to finger yourself and it felt as addictive as this. Those moments were either broke useless, or uncomfortable, but now, it's an experience you took a mental photo of.

A third finger was so much more than you could’ve ever imagined, the relief and alleviation from remaining pent up, practically bubbling up in your chest and securing the pressure within. To no avail, could you get off as quickly or effectively as this, in the blacksite or times prior. You moaned over and over, not deeply, but they spilled into the room with an airy fall, all the more dizzying for Painter.

The sharp pleasure that had just begun to wind in your gut dissipated as Painter removed all three fingers from you, sighing in irritation. You sat there, panting and hot, with a disappointed glare sent Painter's way — the same glare you shot him through the security cameras when he found locking you in a room with Eyefestation nothing but amusing. He nearly snickered.

“I think you should be… ready enough by now,” Painter hesitated, but suddenly became acutely aware of the impatient length prodding from his pelvis. “If you want, but it shouldn’t hurt as badly, if at all—”

“I’ll be fine, Painter. I’ve been through hell and back down here, y’know.” You huffed and smiled. “And it’s not like you’re trying to hide your eagerness.”

The computer sputtered, lashing his tail with a single whip. “Wha— You’re one to talk! I— Okay, okay, can I…?” He gently placed both hands on the side of either of your thighs, moving up towards the crook of your knees.

With a harsh swallow, you nodded, looking off to the side and suppressing your anticipation using the best of your efforts. You hissed as a rounded object hit your clit, and slid further down until it ever so slightly caught in the give of your hole. Painter held his base and began pushing, but only watched how your expression shifted from unease to a grimace of discomfort. He grimaced along with you in empathy.

He halted his entry halfway when a small whimper broke the silence, releasing the hold on himself and securely gripping each of your thighs in the air. “Are you okay? Should— should I wait a second?”

You nodded with a wince, from both pain, an unfamiliar pleasure you were sure it’d take a minute to adjust to, and a foreign body parting your insides, overwhelming your hole. “Feels’weird,” you slurred, “weird and hot. Like there’s something stuck in me. Jus’– just keep going.”

Painter hesitantly resumed his careful motions, unable to help but watch as he continued to disappear within your pussy. It was difficult to completely tailor to your state when the smooth meltiness of your walls began to hug his cock so addictingly, rubbing against his touch sensors and shooting the sensation up his gut. He moaned sharply when you unexpectedly sucked him in deeper, responding to the gradual pushing and pulling Painter did to ease himself inside.

After some minutes of slow prodding, Painter’s hips met yours, fully sheathed inside. You mentally thanked the excessive self-lubrication you gave out earlier, as embarrassing as the initial amount was. But there remained a dull burn from the stretch; you were sweating and panting immensely, gripping the table so tightly you were sure you’d broken a blood vessel in your vagina. 

Painter was tentative enough to remain still until you relaxed enough for him to experimentally pull almost entirely out and thrust his hips back in, the movement punching a loud moan from either of you. Right, you were both learning why sex was so greatly cherished.

One of your hands scrambled to clamp over your mouth, but failed its objective when Painter leaned over your body and took it in his against the table. Your fingers weaved tightly around his, flexing out of nervousness, but eased as you caught notice of Painter’s tail wagging in delight at the reciprocation.

“I– I can take it, just—” You panted and clenched your eyes shut, still figuring out how to relax your lower muscles around dick inside of you. “Fuck– Just keep fucking going.”

All that from one thrust… they’re definitely more sensitive, Painter noted. You didn’t have to tell him twice; the thick desperation seeping from your throat fueled his hips to begin a quick but steady pace, the force knocking your legs in the air in tandem. 

Every strained moan and gasp only drove Painter further, until he couldn’t stop himself, pathetically groaning in your ear in unison. “H-aah- Fuck, you feel good, so good–”

The intensity of it all completely erased your ability to even string together sentences, every breath accompanied by the sound of raw pleasure. You shivered, choking out gasps and low moans unashamedly into the ambience of the blacksite. Wall dwellers weren’t the only ones fucking me over down here, you mentally joked, I hope HQ can hear the ineffectiveness of his job.

For a moment, you managed to pry your eyes open to the sight of Painter needily humping into your pussy, fucking himself inside with a desperation that had started this whole ordeal in the first place. Watching your own body rock back and forth with his motions, and hearing his voice crack and glitch alongside yours, only contributed to the buzzing heat you weren’t sure you could take. 

You closed your eyes again, trying to focus on the building coil in your gut as Painter pistoned his silicone dick inside with an even firmer blow. That must be the oncoming orgasm. It was hard to tell when it was hotter and more intense than any orgasm you’ve ever felt. Correction, more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. 

“Fuck– fuck fuck fuck– Painter, I—” Every word was thick and strained, but your tone pitched higher, thighs beginning to shake. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop—”

“I won’t, I won’t, I’m right her-ahhn– o-ohh—” And Painter could feel the buildup in his system, too. It wouldn’t be the same as a human orgasm, and he wasn’t exactly sure what it would feel like. But he could certainly sense the touch sensors from his lower region pulsing more intensely with each shove of his hips, warning tabs of his system overheating popping up and obstructing his face. 

It steadily built.

Something was definitely building.

Your eyes wouldn’t have rolled to the back of your head as fast as it did when Painter began to beg.

“O-oh, oh god, I’m—!” He rasped, inclining his weight into you to reach as deep as he could go; so much as to hike a leg up on the table. “Please, I gotta— I can’t ho–oohh–ld it, please, can I cum inside–? please, please—!”

Painter’s eyes were roughly scribbled into closed lines, so you figured he wouldn't see you nod in response, managing to pant out strained yes’es close enough to his audio input instead. Holy clit boner.

Once you gave him the go, there was no going back as he moaned, broken and guttural. Even after ropes of cum shot out into you, the feeling was warm but odd; his pace refused to relent. He rutted over and over, chasing the feeling of your walls tightening around his dick after earning the opportunity from mountains of patience.

The drag of his cock pumping in and out while feeling the warmth of his load was your absolute breaking point.

You whined, out of nervousness and pleasure. Every breath you let out was a whine. It was too much. Your heart pounded in your ears, teetering on the edge of climax, blabbering dialogue confined to your inner thoughts — until one particularly deep thrust that brushed your clit broke you. Oh god, it’s gonna– oh fuck, oh my god I’m gonna cum–

You curled around Painter’s body as you came, a choked moan ripping from your throat. Raw pleasure shot through your limbs as your hips stuttered against his, your hole pulsing intensely around him. It was too much, but so fucking good, and you were sure anything solo would be rendered useless after this. Every wave of the orgasm hit you hard, punching wails from your chest.

Moans transitioned into heavy pants as you both came down from your highs, the room hushing once again. You shuddered, eyes still tightly wound shut, tremors racking your body. Painter felt your arms move up and wrap around his shoulders, which was the first conscious movement you’ve made in five minutes.

“Was it okay?” Painter asked quietly, supporting himself on his forearms.

You had hoped your definitely fucked-out expression answered for you, but he seemed adamant on confirming your wellness. It was sweet. “Mhm. More than okay.”

As you relaxed your thighs further outwards, you were reminded of Painter’s presence still snug inside, wincing at the oversensitivity. Once his screen dissipated of any system warning tabs, you watched him also wince pulling out, unplugging any cum to drip out onto the floor. 

Painter paused, cinching his drawn eyebrows. “We just had sex,” he observed.

“Yeah, we did.” You hummed definitively. “Huh.”

You could each afford a moment to bask in the moment and not have to even think about the bullshit that awaits down there, and escape altogether. Especially when that meant accepting the fact that ‘adult virgin’ wasn’t an eligible title to your name anymore. Would Painter boast to Sebastian about this? Fuck.

Along with the mess, you were sure to have irritated the many creatures that resided nearby.

Certainly my monkeys, not a single fuck given for the circus.