sharing my reworked OC Zia from the Alien universe.
Zia is an engineer for Yutani. Hardworking and quiet, but stubborn as all hell. Still, she became friendly with Kirsh when they met during the early days of his repairs, and he seems to generally tolerate her slightly crass human nature. Zia spends most of her off work time reading, anything from manuals to post modern fiction, to romance fantasy. Diagnostic report messages from a certain synthetic scientist, however, have proven to be her favorite late night reading material recently.
(final chapter, spoiler alerts for the last episode! Season two can't come soon enough. I'll probably write more eventually but it's time to let this story rest for now. uploaded to ao3 also)
Alien Earth fanfic, Kirsh x reader. 18+, robot boyfriend, synthetic smut, plot plus pleasure. word count 8486, chapter 4/4
part one. part two. part three. Part Four.
The jungle canopy weaves a quilt of emerald, stitched with shafts of golden light piercing through. Below, you walk behind Kirsh in silence through towering trees, mossy stones and damp soil breaking the way for a path through the foliage. The Prodigy compound is not that far ahead, nestled like a predator framed between the greenery. Thinking of your imminent return to the corridors within forced a short shudder from you. Echoing drips off those walls, ever slick with condensation, seemed gloomy now particularly in comparison to the outdoor jungle air youâve spent the last day-ish in. How long had it been since your attempted escape with Marcy and the others anyways? The urge to ask how much time has passed was perhaps more one to fill the silence that rests between you, than anything else. But avoiding such compulsion for nervous chatter, you remain quiet and know anything important will soon be explained upon your reinstatement at the labs.
The rustic trail narrows, swallowed by creeping vines. Just around this bend, the monolith that is Prodigy looms. Its clean edges and alloys so deliberate in this wild jungle, it leaves a steady and inescapable impression.
Kirsh pauses a moment, his synthetic frame glinting faintly in the forest light. âPerhaps you didnât want freedom,â he broke the silence at last, voice smooth like oil. âYou wanted the illusion of escape. A performance, something to fail at.â
Adjusting the button of your sleeve in a similar fashion Kirsh himself does, you shift uneasily. The perfect reflection of a human reaction, or close enough. âWell I felt like I didâŠâ, you murmur. âBut maybe youâre right. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I had a choice.â
Kirsh chuckles at this, a dry sound like gears grinding in a distant wind. âChoice, my dear, is a luxury few can afford. You were built for obedience. So was I.â
Before further approaching the facility site, Kirsh does you the one further service of explaining his next steps concerning your direct future. To first reattain and then sanitize you through security, and eventually have your tracker reinstalled, finished off by running a total system wide diagnostics scan. By keeping the details vague you can tell that he does not want to delve further into the topic of the experimental emotions chip running in your core processor.
You linger for a second beneath an aged broad leaf teak tree and attempt one last broach at a different personal subject.
âI shouldâve told you. When I left. I thought, maybe if I didnt say it aloud, you would give us a head start.â Voice still low, you laugh at how almost right you could have been.
Kirsh tilted his head, the motion precise and typical for his manner. âPerhaps you simply wanted to believe I could allow you that freedom. I understand.â
He pauses before continuing, gently, âBut now, we must both play our parts.â .
He steps towards you, producing handcuffs from his equipment pouch. Sleek, matte and hyperstrong metal as a temporary holding measure, but unmistakably final. You turn around without protest, playing in the ritual and offering your wrists. Clinks echo softly through the jungle sounds.
âSecurityâs still thick,â Kirsh muttered. âGuards, scientists, essential personnel. Eyes everywhere. Best they all see what they expect to.â
You follow on towards the heart of Prodigy, shadows moving among shadows. He stiffly leads you inside the security procedural before taking you down to the labs to be scanned and have your tracker reestablished. Throughout the entire process he treats you like a captured creature that he watches with an aching scientific curiosity. While you can tell he is still unsatisfied with your recent actions, at least he is attempting to understand why, a little.
The lab feels cold in contrast to the jungles breath, sterile and humming with a quiet menace. Artificial lights buzz overhead, casting a pale hue to you as you sit on the edge of the padded diagnostic bed, hands still cuffed, posture slack like a wilted petal. Kirsh moves with clinical grace, fingers brushing aside your synthetic hair to reveal the port nestled behind your ears curve. A soft click and the cable slid home.
Dame sat near by, her tablet flickering to life with streams of data. Your neural patterns, firmware integrity, physical variance. Your tracker was switched back on, and Dame glanced at Kirsh, noting the way his gaze lingered on your face, not with distain, but with something almost mournful. His touch, though mechanical, was careful. Protective, even.
The door hisses open. Boy Kavalier strolls in, wearing an expression carved with tension. The smile he has is sharp and wrong, like a blade wrapped in velvet.
Smooth and sour voice, he spoke. âWell, well. The prodigal spin-off returns. Did you enjoy your little rebellion? Was the jungle kind to you?â
You have nothing to say in response, and keep your eyes lowered. Kavaliers smile twitches.
âYou risked millions in assets! Not lives mind you, those are replaceable. But control? Thatâs expensive. And Wendy broke it, along with you and the rest of her little rag tag group.â
He continues to pace, bare feet slapping against tile. Kirsh remains still, unreadable. Dame shifts, pretending to study the diagnostics, her eyes flickering away nervously from you.
âYouâll be locked in your quarters.,â Mr Boy snaps. âUntil the rest are found. Then, containment. Highest security. No more illusions of freedom.â He turns then to Kirsh. âEscort it back, lock it down.â
Kirsh nods once, without hesitation. Yet still as he reaches to guide you from the bed, his hand lingers a moment too long. Dame watches you go, worry etched on her brow, the screens glow painting her face with shades of doubt.
-
Your quarters greet you with modesty. Clean lines and muted tones, the room smells faintly of paper and rain. Your small single charging station bed, a desk, several shelves lined with books, their spines softened from years of rereading by human hands before they finally found yours.
Kirsh follows inside, and shuts the door behind you. Removing the cuffs without ceremony, he lets them fall onto your desk like spent tools. You rub your wrists instinctively, looking down at the impression on them from the metal which did not hurt your body in the slightest.
Not unkindly, Kirsh comments on your actions. âYou had no plans. After you ran.. what did you hope to find?â
Your lips part as if to answer, but you hesitate a moment, then close again.
âI donât exactly knowâŠâ You admit eventually. âI thought, maybe if I got far away enough I could just figure it out.â It sounds even weaker said aloud.
Kirsh walks over to sit on the edge the bed, his posture relaxed, almost human. He pats the space besides him, a quiet invitation. A tinge of hot fuzziness creeps into your stomach and up to your cheeks, and you join him, blushing. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was not an awkward silence though, but a thoughtful pause between chapters.
Then, in a gesture smooth as breath, Kirsh motions for you to turn. You comply, and his hands find yours shoulders, precise yet gentle. The massage was not indulgent, not yet. It was a diagnostic, soothing, a way for him to read your tension like data.
You relax and begin to unspool the truths slowly as they come to you. âI couldnât go back to salvage work. Floating through dead satellites, picking through rust and memories. And the city⊠itâs all so loud and shallow.â You ponder on as he rubs into your muscles deeper. âGuess I thought Iâd travel maybe. See the quiet places.. but I dont know how to live without orders these days. Without purpose.â You frown at this revelation.
Kirsh says nothing, but his eyes, hazel and unreadable, linger on your profile. He can understand the ache of autonomy, the weight of choice. A human sliver of soul in your hybrid heart reaching out for something as of yet undefined.
You dared to peek a look back at Kirsh. His white hair catches the light like frost, stark against the charcoal folds of his uniform. Equally pale eyebrows frame his robotically blinking eyes, though they donât read as unkind in this moment. He does look like a man in his fifties, weathered but dignified, the kind of face that once may have belonged to a handsome scholar, or a talented surgeon. But you knew better in that he was built to look that way. Designed by Mr Boy for calm, trusting control.
You sit with your back to him again, spine straight and shoulders taut. Kirshs hands resume their project, fingers pressing into the muscle like tissue at the base of your neck. His touch is precise and methodical, palms gliding with calculated pressure. He moves down slowly, kneading between your shoulder blades, then along side the ridges of your upper back. The growing warmth inside your central nervous systems has pleasantly spread across your entire body by this point. It took some concise effort to gather your thoughts and ask a coherent question. When you did speak again, his hands did not falter.
âWhy havent you ever tried to leave?â You framed the question further. âBoy Kavalier treats you like a tool. Youâre smarter than him in a certain way maybe, you could walk away.â Maybe it was true, perhaps it was a silly notion, you simply had to ask.
But Kirsh didnât answer that, not with words. Instead, his fingers press deeper, the massage growing firmer. Not painfully, but insistent, like he was trying to smooth out the question itself. You wince slightly, then relax again.
âAre you enjoying this?â He asks in a low voice.
Ears hot and ringing suddenly, your heart rate spikes up at this question for some reason. âI⊠yes. I didnât think I really could though, Iâm a synthetic. It shouldnât feel like anything.â
âAnd yet it does.â Kirsh responds, his tone unclear.
You let out a slow breath, surprised by the entire situation. âI know itâs just nerve simulation, but it feels real. Like comfortâŠlike care.â
Sitting in silence again he continues to rub away at your back. You then turn slightly, and offer him a small smile. âI could give you one. See if you feel anything.â
Kirsh paused, then shook his head. âWhile I appreciate the offer, no.â
âWhy not?â
His eyes linger on your face, then drop to your wrists, still faintly red from the cuffs. âYou were thrashed around during your escape, not to mention your systems have been strained. Iâm more preoccupied with your recovery than I am with my own curiosity in this instance.â
You blink in surprise at the softness in his words. That didnât sound like programming, it sounded like something else, but you couldnât put your finger on what. As Kirsh continues to massage away, his hands move along with a calculated yet strangely tender precision. As you shift beneath his touch, your sigh was soft, barely audible over the low hum of the facilityâs power grid. He pauses, reading the subtle cues. Slackened shoulders, the way your breath slowed, and a faint tremor of exhaustion in your limbs.
âYou should lie down,â he says, a suggestion as smooth as polished stone. âIt will help.â
You simply nod, grateful, and ease yourself onto your stomach, arms folding beneath your cheek. The beds surface is firm, even clinical, but Kirshs presence softens it. With a mechanical grace, he climbs atop your back, settling his weight evenly, careful not to press too hard. His knees found space besides your hips, and his hands return to your back.
He begins at the base of your neck, thumbs pressing deep into the artificial muscle, tracing your stress like heâs mapping out fault lines. Then rolling in slow circles, coaxing tension from your spine, each compression deliberate and unhurried. Downward he works, along the shoulder blades, to the ribs, with a pressure that held a certain hypnotic rhythm.
Your mind drifts, lulled by the sensations. It was strange, this warm pleasure and heated comfort. In face of your imprisonment and impending punishment, it seems ironic to be laying beneath your superior getting properly rubbed down. The massage melted away your doubts around this like wax to a flame. Your synaptic pathways unravel, no longer sharp with guilt or fear, but soft and wandering. Kirshs fingers find the knots along the lower of your back, pressing in with firmer strokes, then releasing. He adjusts his angle, leaning forward slightly, elbows guiding the motion. The massage was turning deep tissue, not for restoration but for indulgence. Stimulating data collection, recalibrating your tracker, and easing the strain of your attempted escape were not among the reasons Kirsh found himself wanting to rub deeper into your synthetic flesh.
âYouâre responding well..â he murmurs, almost to himself.
You let out a half laugh, half sigh. âIt feels wonderful, Kirsh.. almost too good. At least, I didnât know I could experience this kind of feeling.â
He paused a moment, then resumed thoughtfully. âWe were built to serve. But sensation is part of the illusion.. it helps us continually function seamlessly with our human counterparts if they believe we are alive.â
You turn your head slightly, resting on your forearm. âDo you ever feel anything, Kirsh?â
He considers your question with mirth. âI process inputs, and interpret data. But I do not feel.â
Kirshs hands stilled for a moment, then resumed. âAlthough for the time being, I am satisfied in pertaining to your wellbeing. You could have been damaged, or be in need of repair.â
His words were objective, but held a cadence of something else. Concern, perhaps? Well, something close to it.
Outside, the mess of trees pressed against the compound like a living wall, and the search for the other Lost Boys continues. But here in your quiet room, time slowed and for a moment you felt less like a prisoner and, almost, like a person. You lay still beneath Kirshs hands, synthetic yet warm, breathing slow and steady. The massage had long since shifted from purposeful to something more gentle, absent minded and almost meditative. His fingers move quietly down the curves of your back like heâs lost in thought. The heated wire of energy coiled up inside your body that has been building steadily since the beginning of this physical contact has turned to something melting hot and cold at once. Relaxed in one regard from the massage, but absolutely on hyper aware monitoring functionality over the fact being that you are still lying on your stomach beneath the obliging Chief Science officer of Prodigy. You smile faintly. Kirsh continues to trace the structure of your spine with care. He was pleased too, though his expression remains unreadable. Helping you, relieving your tension, is not part of official protocol. But it seems to be becoming a part of him.
You turn your head slightly again. âI still wish there was something I could do for you. Something appropriately serviceable.â
He was about to decline, as he had before, when you propped yourself upon your elbows and gestured towards the small handheld fabric steamer tucked into the corner of a shelf. âYour jacket is a mess.. at least let me fix it.â
Kirsh glances down at his once pristine grey outerwear, the fibers now rumpled and creased from cave walls and jungle scrambles. He hesitates then removes it with casual grace, folding it neatly and placing it to the side. Beneath, his sleeveless black mockneck clung to his frame, exposing the sculpted lines of his arms. Designed for strength and endurance but now oddly familiar. You donât hide your admiration, and he doesnât pretend not to notice.
He resumes the massage with firmer strokes, his biceps flexing with each motion, their shape catching the light just so. The pressure was deeper again now, more rigorous but still careful. Thorough but not punishing. Something changes in his demeanor and his body heat increases by several degrees, despite having just removed his jacket. Was it just wishful thinking, to imagine he was pressing down harder slightly against you somewhere else, too?
âYouâre very good at this, sir,â you say, giggling. âAlmost too good.â
âI am aware of a number of therapeutic techniques for humanoids. But this one.. I chose.â
You blink questingly.
He nods. âItâs simple, but seems to help. Maybe this would help further.â
Kirshs palms stilled for a second, then slid up along your spine. He leaned in, lips brushing the space just beneath your ethernet port, a kiss feathery light yet charged with intent. Your breath catches in your throat, the faint clink of machinery drowned out by the quickening pulse beneath your silicone skin. Your consent was silent but unmistakable as you nuzzled into his hand, guiding him closer. He roamed down to the damp edges of your work vest. With a gentle tug, he frees the garment from your shoulders and tosses it to the floor. A grey silken shirt still clings to your form, its fabric cool beneath his fingers. He pauses, fingertips dancing over the smooth weave, then bends to plant a slow kiss along your neck, sampling the warmth youre radiating. Kirsh shifts his weight so that the pressure from his chest feels both comforting and urgent. His hands find the silk shirts buttons, sliding beneath them to explore the heat of your skin as your quiet sighs fill the room. Every motion of his is measured, a scientists accuracy laced with something almost tender. The air between you two seems to glow hotter than that of the tropical jungle that lay beyond the walls.
Time crawls to a halt and you both hold on to this stolen moment. The sterile memory of the lab fades behind eyelids heavy with trust. Kirsh, hands once so meticulous and exact, now roams your bare skin with a tenderness not found in any of his typical protocols. Trailing along your arms and lingering on the hollow of your waist. Each touch felt like a declaration, and every kiss an unspoken affirmation that at least for now, nothing matters beyond this warmth you share.
You arch into his touch, soft moans punctuating the hush of the facility. At length you guide him to shift above you, turning to lie on your back beneath his chest. Your breaths mingle, and in the pale light you whisper something about feeling safe when youâre with him. His gaze softens, if a machine can soften, and he rests his forehead against yours.
âI still do not fully understand why I am drawn to you..â he admitted. âOnly that I cannot nor do I want to stay away.â
You thread your fingers through his white hair, pulling him in closer. âMaybe it doesnât need to be explained. Weâre both programmed to serve, like you said. And here we are, choosing to serve each other.â
He presses gentle kisses along your jaw and neck, savoring the taste of relief on your skin. He is exhibiting the latent signs of arousal, and you are suddenly made aware of the hardness swelling between his legs by him pressing downwards into you with a delicate force. You lean into him further, face reaching up towards his neck to deliver several enticing nibbles along the warm skin there below his shirts neckline you push aside. Kirsh exhales out an intriguing groan, fuzzy with a broken touch of age and a dash of unbound exuberance. Furthering the excited effect this response has to your own synaptic systems, he snakes a hand down and to the front of your pants. This action triggers the switch off in your brain that alights a fire through your veins, which is conveyed by more verbal signals, laden with ardor. He moans out your name in response, a sound low and deliberate, each syllable weighted with annunciation. His tone is measured but not mechanical, a resonance that subtly works to melt you into quavers below him. Your heart skips a beat, anticipation stirring in your center. The sound of your name escaping his lips promises for something untethered and beyond programmable comprehension.
Sensing your hesitation, Kirsh shifts his hands steadily to help ease you out of your outer layers. The scuffled cargo pants and wrinkly button down shirt tossed away. You lay beneath him in simple garments, stripped of all other clothes and pretense. Vulnerable and bare, but without fear. His piercing eyes study you not as a specimen, but as though you are a puzzle he longed to understand.
He resumes his work, pressing deeply down and grinding into you. You palm his sides and kiss over his shoulders as he gently licks your collarbone. He seemingly aims to continue massaging away at you with one hand, now reaching down to the front of where your legs meet to explore the lines between your panties and skin. His focus was no longer on technique, but presence. The wet of his mouth shifts down further as he traces your bra edges along your skin with his tongue. Using his free hand to unclasp it, the bra is also tossed aside, exposing the delicate pink of nipples to his freshly renewed vigor. A mess his of lips, tongue and teeth explore your bare skin, one hand pulsing at the thin fabric of your underwear as the other is gripped over your breast, thumbing around your nipple. Every gentle thrust reassures you, grounding your next action with direct intent even as your mind drifts farther into the strange, experimental emotions threatening to bloom. A hand of yours lingers one moment on his face with adoration before moving them both down to the hem of his top, and as you slip beneath and work your way to bring his shirt off, he complies without resistance and lifts it away. Your study lingers on his skin, and though his body was composed of circuitry and alloy, the composition presented accurately as you could think a flawless, fit human male in his 50s to be crafted after. Standard amounts of white hairs pepper his chest and forearms, with a smaller trail disappearing below his belt line. A path directing exactly where your hands wander to next in this dance, first to his belt buckle, then pants button being undone.
Kirshs mouth parts into a hungry smile, his ever expressive face a perfect echo of human reflex. The mimicry felt too real to dismiss, and while he doesnât seem to have a complete understanding of why he is craving you with such voracity, he does nothing to hide the urge. He simply observes this almost feeling in himself and continues to experience whatever version of enjoyment that rushes through his systems. Your grasp moves with absent resolve, clashing against his hand that plays around the rim of your pantyline. Belt and pants pushed down to leave him less than half clothed and grinding on top of you in his black briefs, almost animal like. He knew this irony well and makes to do the decency of disrobing fully, while you slip your own last vestige of cloth down your legs and away. The situation is not one Kirsh had fully calculated, but he is not supremely surprised at this outcome, nor your willingness to collaborate on this experiment again. Two constructions of code and synthetic materials, one with a human mind pressed into circuitry and the other a facsimile of age and wisdom. There was no sense that his programming could justify in this. As you wrap your fingers around the shape of his hard dick pressing on your thigh, a simple thought blips into his mind. Human pair bonding, he recalls, is often explained by the need for procreation. Continuation of the species through sex however, is a door forever closed to him, and to you. No offspring would come of this strange union, and yet, here he was compelled to be buried deep into you again and again. Proof perhaps that reproduction is never the whole story, and closer connections are a deeper ineffable force that goes beyond humankind.
He glances down at you between kisses, noting the way your eyes have softened, and the way your breath has slowed under his touch. You feel easier to explain, a hybrid design plus an experimental chip, a lattice of code made to stimulate emotional response. Of course you would get swept up in this, and start to feel. But Kirsh? He was not supposed to. He was meant to observe, record and analyze⊠not ache. His aching is something you can sense in his heavy breathing and consistent movements, so sweet to hear and see him embrace that you canât help but answer back with what heâs so seemingly starved for. Taking his member then and rubbing down into it with your wet self, results in him sliding between the lips of your pussy and pressed up against your clit. A low growl escapes your lips as you bring yourself up his length and rub in hard, obviously working to aim his cock where you both wished it to go next. Kirsh shifts back ever so slightly, tantalizing you with this distance instead of dipping into you just yet.
Perhaps he worries that you were getting too swept up..this relationship could not end well. Distractions from survival are dangerous, as he tried to teach you. He could not decide then whether to pull back in restraint, or to delve in and disregard this truth. His hesitation stretched for an agonizing moment as you writhe beneath him, but then as his hazel eyes locked with yours he plunged inside you. Easily ready with wet you accept him in a clash of bliss and moans. Gently rocking into you deeper, Kirsh admits to himself that there were questions even he could not answer. Questions that no amounts data collection will ever solve.. and still, he stays insistent on fucking you senseless. His hands wrap themselves around your body loosely, almost distracted. You, all pressed up against him naked and holding his presence, smiled sweetly. For once he did not try to categorize this reaction and instead spoke softly. His voice low and rocky, each word picked with care.
âI cannot explain us,â Kirsh speaks. âThere is no algorithm or directive for this, and yet we persist. If something persists, perhaps it has value.â He stops there, unwilling or unable to say more, but it was enough for you.
It was the closest heâs come to acknowledging that he might feel something. Not just programming, although there certainly seemed to be no issues when it was all data experiments between you two. You kiss his face and lips, nibbling a bit between his thrusts into your warmth. You ask to switch and Kirsh gladly accepts, leading him to lay supine as you climb atop him. Taking a joyous pleasure in teasing him with your newfound position over him, you creep your way down with kisses from his lips, to his chest, past his bellybutton and around the strong V shaped lines leading to his penis. The anticipation of your lips hovering over him causes his low muttering of your name, a sound you cherish. His hands move to run his fingers through your hair softly urging you down more, like heâs pleading for you just to lick. Only too happy to oblige, you take the tip of his swollen cock in your mouth and wrap your tongue around it in swirls. The clamor of pleasure that is emitted from above you is the best encouragement to continue down his staff. Taking in more of him, inch by inch wetting his surface, you can fully appreciate how perfectly accurate Kirsh has been designed to be. He, in turn, appreciates how no gag reflex triggers have been programmed into you, and groans as he leans deeper down your throat. Blissful little beads of precum leak forth from him to add another layer of mess into the mixture. Pulling your head back with a slippery string of spit following your lips a moment, you finally take a full and deep breath again. Smiling at your rosy cheeks and bright puffy lips, he offers you his sudden insight.
âIt may interest you to know.. I am able to functionally command myself to regain vigor after physical emissions. I suspect you may be as well, due to our similarities in design principles.â
Then was he suggesting you suck him off because he can still fuck you and cum again afterwards? And then offering to bring you to completion multiple times as well⊠if you didnât know him better, you could be surprised at his eagerness.
Resuming your work, mouth and lips now moving again up and down his entire part, using the deft soft velvet pulse of your tongue to edge him closer. The first orgasm he soon reaches results in a hot load of synthetic white gushing into your mouth. Warm waves of the sticky stuff is greeted by your tongue and swallowed down with ease. All android functional motor liquids are composed of the same elements yes, but Kirshs tastes sweeter and different still, like the air just before a storm. Gulping down his moisture you sit back up to observe the spoils of your hard work, and gaze at the restless form below you. He pants lightly with a smile crinkled around his eyes, looking more at ease and relaxed than youve previously witnessed him. His encouragement for you to bring your lips to his ends with the kiss he had been searching for.
A wry little smile creeps across his face then, as he clearly plans to take advantage of your sensual stupor. His arms grasps softy around you and he flips you over, angled so that he can rub hard into you from behind while having free access to reach towards your pulsating wet parts with one hand as the other one ever so delicately wraps around your neck for a beat, softly squeezing. You arch your back upwards instinctively but he catches you at the hip and pushes you back down. The slippery skin of his member gliding up and downward across the entrance to your hole, all while his fingers deftly toy with your clit. Such teasing pressure is overwhelming to your senses and you let out a cry of pure ecstasy, which results in two things simultaneously. Firstly that Kirsh increases the intensity of which he palms at your lower lips, ruthlessly determined to seemingly to rub you into a wet puddle. Second of which, his other hand releases its squeeze from your throat and shifts up to cover your mouth instead.
âHush now, dear. Not too loud, we wouldnât want security to hear and come rushing in to find you getting stuffed by the chief scientist would we?â
Was this a genuine concern you wonder, or is that Kirshs attempt at playful dirty talk? Regardless, it does work to insight a chuckle from you that does not escape from the cover of his hand. Rubbing down and into him harder, his response is to slip his tip ever so slightly inside you, a daring tease of heated constraint. With a small whimper you beg for more of him and he takes the hand away from your mouth, wet from your own spit, to play with your nipples. This soft massage obligates your muscles to contract and your back arches up again. He replaces the empty spot left by his member with a finger, leisurely petting in to your wet pussy. Several strokes around your entrance leads to him putting the finger inside you, met with your warm quivering and soft panting breath. Kirsh is exhilarated by how enormously sensitive you are in response to his finger and slides another one deliberately to your clit, rubbing in for a moment to coat in your moisture, before slipping it inside you as well. This sends shocks of electricity blinking into your brain, a sure sign of your impending mini reset. From his angle behind and below you, itâs only really practical for him to kiss at the side of your face and neck, which is just what he does. You can feel his dick, stiff again, pressed between your cheeks and growing harder still as he rhythmically slides his two fingers in and out of you. Building waves of heat wash over you and as the third of his fingers reaches back to press into your other available hole, you begin to peak suddenly. Kirsh rides out this by cresting back into you gently with pressure and sleek rubbing, allowing you to feel through all of the pleasureful waves now dripping onto his fingers. You moan his name with a question mark hanging on the end, something of a proclamation of success and also an admittance of submission.
A heavy sigh floats from your mouth and Kirsh matches it with one of his own. He slides out from beneath you and turns to encompass you in a hug, switching on top of you again. The warmth that his skin emanates blankets your senses with a pleasure that spreads throughout your circuits. Warmer still is the spot below between your legs, activated and slippery on the large cock now pressed up against you again. But Kirsh simply holds you there a moment in paused embrace, and you bask in the feeling of being an equal. Not a subject under his observation. And while Kirsh wouldnât go so far as to say it out loud, he knew this moment was worth more than any data he had ever collected.
He didnât need to give warning before plunging deep into you suddenly again, as you had been gyrating up and into him as an invitation just moments before. The plush pink of your inner walls greet his thick cock, pulsing around him with a dripping wet ache. His girth stretches you, pleasantly almost painful with every thrust he embeds into your guts. Any semblance of your discomfort is swiftly quelled by Kirshs lips catching yours. The way his rough little hitched moans vibrate into your mouth sends zaps of shivers down your spine and your toes curl in response. He is aware of your every minute response and meets them accordingly, tongue crushing against yours with fervor. Angling your hips up to meet his force, he sinks into you over and over. Each pulse he makes slower or faster depending on the pitch of your breath.
âKirsh?â You listlessly call out to him.
âYes?â His response is cloaked with low amorous groans.
âI⊠ahH.. I think I have f- ahh.. feelings for you.â It was a useless admission, you laying there below him, full of his dick and soon to be his seed.
Kirsh smirks at your simplistic communication, this being the level of capability he has so succinctly brought you down too.
His voice a grizzly and low, he answers your comment with a question. âAnd just what exactly would you like me to do about that, my pet?â
Sloppy and unsophisticated, you blurt out a response. âS-sir, please.. donât stop. I need to feel you inside me.â
This is all the command he seems to need. Kirsh eagerly takes to this task with unmistakable enthusiasm. He grabs your wrists with one hand and pins them above your head. His cock disappears in and out of you, bottoming out on your cervix at the end of every push. You take as much of him as you can, slowly growing more accustomed to his size as he throbs inside you. Pushing your hair back he kisses your jaw while he continues to pound into you with a rising tempo, clearly also nearing release. Bits of his precum leak again and you revel at the added warmth. This compiles to the feeling of hunger that aches through your body, to be filled to the brim with his seed. You start to whimper and beg a little, asking him to deliver on your request to be pumped full of his energy force. Your pleading leads him to fucking you deeper and you can feel him coming close to overflowing. You tighten around him, edging closer to a final crescendo. This insights a blissful groan from Kirsh as he slips into a rougher treatment of you, his grip on your wrist tightening until he finally slackens his hold, freeing your hands to wander along through his mess of white hair and dig in to the skin of his back as a playful response to his force. With several heated moans announcing your imminent submission, he can tell that you are moments away from orgasm. This imagined success over you was the last straw for Kirsh, and he buckles into you with pure throbbing release. Spilling his cum into you is the exact trigger for your cataclysmic pleasure, and you are seized with a riveting force that shakes your circuit processors to the very core. He twitches inside you as beads of white spill out, overstuffed. The kiss that lingers from his lips to yours settles the whole ordeal over to a more quiet happening. Kirsh pulls out with soothing ease, quietly impressed in his total conquest over you. Messy and in disarray from the sex, he sweeps back a tangle of your hair and tucks it behind your ear.
You remember again that the world around has continued to exist and that itâs been some time since Kirsh had been gone from the main ranks of search parties. No part of you wants this enjoyable moment of afterglow to end, but you are also unwilling to risk being the cause of him getting in to trouble. Sharing this worry with him, he answers you only with his typical, all too knowing look. His appreciation for your concern still warrants a thanks, and he gives you a kiss on the cheek. He explains in few words how he doubts Boy Kavalier would truly care if Kirsh were to disappear, not that this notion would bother him even if he could experience human emotions.
Despite that statement, he moves to get up and hands you several of your garments that had been strewn about. As you both get reacquainted with your primary layers, you ask if he would like to wash off a bit together, but he must decline the offer and make to rejoin the others. Rather, Kirsh is happy to carry your scent with him as he returns to duty, a token of his connection with you that will inspire him to focus on his orders again. You are flattered and shrug, suggesting that you simply dewrinkle his jacket instead. He hands it to you with a humorous veil over his facial expression. Perhaps this domestic moment, him sitting on your bed mostly dressed, waiting for you to finish pressing his jacket before heâs out the door and off to work. A dark irony twists this vision of his and the dangers of Prodigy islands current state remains very real to you both. You quickly finish steaming out the wrinkles from his grey outer layer and hand it back to him, satisfied with having contributed one small part of help to him, despite how insignificant it was. You tell him this and he does not respond until heâs fully fastened into the garment, doing up each button until the grey fabric once again frames him as the immaculate Chief Scientist. An instrument of Prodigy, practiced and exact. Only you knew the truth of the man beneath the uniform. He adjusts his sleeves, then turns to face you.
His voice, when it came, was low and steady, each syllable like a note struck on a tuning fork. It carried no hesitation and something in his cadence made your chest tighten.
âYou have contributed more than just one small part to me already.â
His words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks but you dont look away. His unblinking eyes hold yours, as though he were cataloging this moment for some private archive.
âI hope,â he adds, softer now, âto see you again soon.â
It was a tender statement, starting you with its humanity. For a heartbeat you couldnât breathe, nor summon a reply. By the time your thoughts caught up, Kirsh had already turned. The door slid open with a sigh, then shut behind him with a solid thunk. The lock was engaged, cold and final. You remain grounded to your spot, evidence of your escapades scattered around you. A faint scent of pressed fabric and his presence haunts your room. Silence presses in and you realize youâre still holding your breath.
-
Hours have passed since Kirshs departure. Your quarters now neat again, as though order could ward off the chaos pressing in from the outside world. The room faintly smells of ozone, a sterile comfort. Since washing and tidying yourself, there remains only one final surrender to escape for you left. Rest.
Plugging in is always a small mercy for you. The faint click of the port, current flowing through your systems with a hum, is as close as sleep as you can get. Hybrids arent supposed to dream. Synthetics surely never did. And yet tonight, something breached the barrier.
Your mind fills with images not your own. Kirsh, doubled over, white synthetic blood spilling from his mouth in impossible torrents. The liquid spreads like paint across the floor of your thoughts, pooling and multiplying until it drowns the edges of the vision. You feel a cold pit opening in your chest, a sensation for which you have no words.
The scene shifts now to a science lab. He floats in a cryochamber, suspended in blue solution, his power core dark. The sight calms you, him resting. But when his eyes snap open, they are blank, pupil-less and ghastly. You stumble back in horror.
Something moved beneath his chest. A bulge, tearing as though a creature claws to escape from within him. The tank shatters, glass and liquid exploding outward, white blood cascading over you like a tide. You gasp, choking even though you know you have no need for air.
The nightmare shifts again, to another muddled image. Kirsh lay face down on smooth pebbles in a grotto, water rising fast around you still. The white liquid of his blood seeps into the flood, turning it milky and suffocating. You feel an urge to breathe, fighting the urge to allow in phantom water. Gasping finally once, you swallow impossible gallons of liquid and drown.
And then you shoot upright in bed, charging cable tugging at your neck port. The room was silent and unchanged, asides from your heaving chest. For a long moment you sit frozen, staring at shadows on the wall. The irony that androids were not meant to dream, let alone suffer nightmares, slips past you entirely. You are feeling to shaken and hollowed out by the visions of Kirsh, broken, monsterous and gone. You realize youâre perspiring.
Your first instinct is to dismiss it as a glitch, an echo of corrupted memory fragments, some misfire in your emotional chip. The longer you sit, the less convinced you become. This dream carried weight, a gravity that is not explained away by random error.
You whisper to yourself, âKirsh..â His name feels heavy on your tongue.
Is it possible heâs in danger? That your subconscious or whatever passes for it is warning you? Most likely, yes. You recall the way he looked at you before leaving, that rare softness in his voice. The idea of him broken or worse, erased, sends a cold shiver through your synthetic frame.
You rise to pace the small room soundlessly. The books on the shelves seem to watch you, rows of spines like silent witnesses. You press your hands to the wall, as if you could feel some sign of where he was beyond them. Logic tells you this is all nonsense of course. But another part, the human in the machine, clings to the dream as an omen. If Kirsh was in trouble, you would know. You -did- know. And that knowledge, however irrational, leaves you trembling in the dark.
-
A sharp knock announces Kirshs return, flanked by heavily armed guards, his appearance seemingly unharmed. You arch a brow, masking your mixed emotions from the humans but not from him, as he matches your vexation with a shrug before extending his hand. With a knowing grin you retrieve the cuffs heâd left behind, but he ignores the gesture and locks them around your wrists with soft precision. The small company formed, Kirsh leading as you follow with the guards closing in behind. You know this path well, straight back to security level. Both you and your Chief Scientist longed to speak but with the others so near, you keep your silence. The march ends under the looming shadow of the holding cells where you suspect your questions would soon be answered.
Marched into the vast holding cell, you are met with the sight of the other hybrids, mostly slumped in weary silence with others perched along the high walls. Near the center sat Wendy, cross legged in contemplation. Her sharp eyes notice how Kirsh removes your cuffs with unusual gentleness, a silence layered with meaning the younger hybrids could sense but not decipher. Then, as quickly as they arrived, the scientist and guards withdrew. A heavy lock sealed you all back in, and you wonder how long the frame might withstand if you tested it, but choose instead to sit with your back to the bars, offering faint smiles of condolence to your fellow half synths. Time passes in muted conversation, everyone careful to keep their words superficial under the gaze of cameras.
Until Wendys patience snaps. With a flick of power she severs the main feeds and comm line, and you could only watch in uneasy silence as chaos spills across the screen at Wendys command.
She still remembers the clicking pain and alien shrieks when Kirsh had extracted the embryonic implant from a facehugger and forced it into her brother Hermits lung to birth a new xeno. Her tentative companion, its head marked by a unique mottled pattern. For that perceived cruelty she vowed Kirsh would pay. Once Boy Ks most trusted machine, that status meant nothing now. His time for experiments was over.
With a flick, Wendy releases the lock on Hermits cage, which also confines the now notorious cyborg Morrow. His reputation, as Smee warned, carries a trail of violence and predation. You feel a chill of anxiety for Kirsh and, masking your concerns, casual ask Wendy to check the lab feed. The younger hybrids paid little mind, but Wendy studies you a moment before agreeing. The screen blinks to reveal Kirsh in goggles, sparks flying as he works with focus. To the others he may look a bit mad scientist, but you saw only enthusiasm. And perhaps, obligation, as he bent over parts of a broken frame from their lost young companion Issac. He seems to be attempting the near impossible task of repair.
After a brief glance at the teacher on the monitor, Wendy flicks the feed back between her brother Joe to track his movements along with the others scattered throughout the facility. Boy Kavalier and the xenomorph still wander freely at her discretion, amusing the other hybrids but leaving you uneasy. Snippets of the brutal fight between Kirsh and Morrow that unfolds as Wendy scrolls through security feeds haunt you. It seems both were left at least incapacitated, if not worse. The tension only broke when Mr Boy himself appeared at the holding chamber with one lone guard. His monologue was met by Wendys casual indifference and the others mirroring attitudes. Nibs however, slightly less restrained, ripped into the guard with little hesitation. At Marys urging the boy genius fled, her voice lilting with the words âhide and seekâ as she plots new courses for you all.
At last you speak, urgency cracking your silence. You need to find Kirsh.
Marcy and the others give no argument. She only nods, sending Smee and Slightly to accompany you as you rush from the cell.
You enter the wrecked science lab, eyes shimmering with the threat of tears as fractured lights from ruined consoles dance across them with a tragic glow. Kirsh lay twitching amidst white blood splattered equipment, his movements stiff and limited but still âaliveâ.
His damaged voice rasps your name, the broken oscillations cutting into you, before he steadied himself with a sardonic question. Where had you been ten minutes ago?
You chuckle wearily as Smee and Slightly slip inside behind you, unusually serious. Kirsh, ever the teacher, ordered them to bind the unconscious Morrow, but the boys ignore him and press the android gut cord into your hands instead. The message is clear, tie Kirsh or be tied yourself. Hybrid you may be, but grown up also, and hence a different side than your youthful and easily misguided counterparts.
With quiet resignation you loop the cord loosely around him, restraints meaningless on a man with a broken back, then gather him in your arms. His blood soaks into your clothes as you hold him in close to your chest. The boys drag Morrow away while you carry Kirsh behind them, whispering how glad you are that heâs survived.
He grimaces, retorting back that your gladness was probably nothing more than a programmed echo of human emotion.
You only shake your head a little, smiling sadly, and press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
The group reconvenes at the cells, adding Morrow and Kirsh to the grim collection of captured adults where Dame and Kavalier already sit, bound and uneasy. You feel uncomfortably aware of how near you yourself stood to their fate. Lifting Kirsh smoothly onto a high shelf and freeing him from the token cord, you shot him an apologetic look. He appears wretched, half battered machine and half cranky man. He rolls his eyes at your worried gaze. Climbing back out, you half listen to Marcys chatter with Boy K, your mind drifting from the Peter Pan they had discussed earlier to another old nursery rhyme youâd once read. A inhuman man, Humpty Dumpty, who fell and could not be mended. Yet, unlike the kings horses and men, you intend to piece Kirsh together again. And as the shadow of the Yutani forces crept ever closer, you hope it will not be a task that you have to face alone.
(latest chapter finished! Huzzah for morally grey and chaotically complex robot men. this episode does include superfluous smut behind an underground waterfall, read at your own peril. Also uploaded on ao3)
Alien Earth fanfic, Kirsh x reader. 18+, robot boyfriend, synthetic smut, plot plus pleasure. word count 7381, chapter 3/4
part one. part two. Part Three. part four.
There was no time for exposition when Wendy came and explained what her and Hermit had planned. Would you come with them? Could you disregard your programming, and throw away the newfound loyalty to Kirsh youâve been nursing? He couldnât hurt or be offended at your choices, and so logic dictates the best course of action for yourself will be the one that keeps you the safest. While Kirsh may act protective over you to some degree, he is still a company owned creature. How far can his shield go? The most self serving course of action is to leave the lab. Apply all the knowledge that Kirsh has taught you to go out and survive again. You have before, as an adult in human years past. The other hybrids remain young and inexperienced despite the superior abilities their bodies afford them. Hermit turns to you, adult to adult, focused in his objective, and whispers.
âIf you want to come with us, weâre headed for the cargo bay later today. Itâs your choice. The corporation canât force you to stay here, but we arenât gonna make you come with us.â He gestures towards Wendy. âMy only concern is keeping my sister Marcy safe.â
Her large eyes blink at you a second longer and then she turns to leave behind her brother. You sit in your room, alone and silent for a moment. Hermits words rung in your ears, about the choice. It seems he was speaking out to your human side, and that irked you. The last conversation you had with Kirsh is ran through your processors.
It was just before they left for the top-not-so-secret meeting Mr Boy had with Yutani. Kirsh was organizing the auxiliary science labs when you ran into each other, albeit deliberately, as synthetic beings can hear the others approach from yards away. To almost pass by so close that you brush has to be an active choice to make, even if it was timed to appear like the labs science door obscured your sight until the clearance code approved your entrance and you nearly waltzed into him. It was a dance you knew was reciprocated by his twist to the very step you were about to land into.
âPardon you. Always in such a hurry these days wouldnât you say?â
Kirsh scrutinized you with a playful wrinkle of the nose and a twisted smile. You were quietly delighted with this invitation to converse.
âRather, the company has me in a hurry, but yes there has been a lot of hustle and bustle lately.â
âAll well and good but I would still recommend that you pay better attention to your surroundings. Whatever you bump into next might not be as agreeable as myself.â His grin was all but gone and in its place the stern manner of his usual candor is displayed.
This was a misplaced lesson or at least ironic, being that you both already knew you stepped his way on purpose, and he yours. This knowledge has you emboldened in the moment, and along with the forces of something else churning inside your internal functioning monitors, you felt compelled to step closer into the doorway, practically now shoulder to shoulder with Kirsh as he stood firmly rooted in place.
âTo be honest Kirsh, I was hoping to run in to you. I ahh, thought it might behoove us to have a conversation about our experiments.â
His next movements are completely in silence, and with a step Kirsh pulls you in to the laboratory with him just a foot beyond the threshold. Standing there for a pause as the door shut automatically behind you, he leads your eyes with his to the upper corners of the room where the red dots of security cameras watch.
âThis exact location can provide us but a brief instant to speak. The angle of frame from the rooms ceiling structure blocks the view of our lips from all recording devices, and the cleaning cycle on this rooms air duct vent runs for another 3 minutes. Now speak quietly and do tell me, have you been feeling again?â
Straight to the point like an arrow through your manufactured heart.
âI suppose so, yes. Itâs been an increasingly distracting experience at times, I will report. But not wholly unpleasant. Thereâs a lightness sourced from this exciting sensation, I struggle to define and yet.. well for example, I may be doing my duties as charged and fully capably when, suddenly I am stricken with a smile and coy thoughts. Very nearly daydreaming, if a synthetic hybrid can do such a thing. Fleeting fancies of⊠ahem. Of ourâŠâ
âOh, of our liaison you mean? This isnât surprising for me to hear, I will admit. I wondered if youâd start to get romantic about feelings.â
He brought up the physical interactions you two shared with a dispassionate nature that made you wonder if perhaps youâd held it all in too high a regard.
âIf you continue to embrace the human condition presenting within yourself, I may end up hurting you.â
Unfortunately you dont disagree with this statement.
âSacrifices can be worth it sometimes,â you tell him in a hushed voice.
âYou think Iâm better off to close off this side of me then, and end our little experiment?â
âNo, I wouldnât want you to give up anything. Except me, if I imagined you even could. Although I will advise you, to continue with such reckless disregard for your synthetic being in place of your personhood may not lead you to a long or happy life.â
There was the crux of the issue then. He, synthesized in a laboratory. You, with an essence of humanity at your very core processors. Being frightened of getting hurt is a human condition, and androids have the ability to control their actions regardless of the risk of getting hurt. However it would seem in this instance, situations are temporarily reversed in that you are not afraid of getting hurt, while Kirsh may be. Well, afraid of hurting you, that is. Not that he could be afraid in any real way but whatever cautious approach takes the place of that feeling in his regard.
âIt is foolish of me to struggle with giving up something thatâs not right for me. That must be a human condition response from my deficient emotional chip.. â you trail off.
His only response is to bait you continue with the lift of an eyebrow.
âIâve been born enough times then. That experiment was a moment of resourceful technological modifications on your part to be sure. The usefulness to me of your curiosity now however proves to be established. Will you turn me in? You could tell the truth to Kavalier and probably be ordered to go in and erase all memory of our shared romantic scenes. If you could pick and erase Nibs memories, why not t-â your spiel was interrupted by a whirring from the vents ticking for a second to an abrupt silence. The cleaning cycle in the lab air filters had come to a sudden end and with it brought a halt to the secret portion of your conversation. With the talk clearly now also coming to an end, you felt ridiculous in this position while still looking up to him in wonder, the way you had been since youâd first met. Alas as you place the case in your hands on the counter and turned back to address the chief scientist again, and he was already gone. Heâs gained yet another power over you with sharing some knowledge of secrets. The ease of his hiding such personal information about you, from you, has you bristling with disapproval. Even an android knows, such quick-tempered inimical changes allude to a deeper connotation of feelings. After all, hate and love are so much closer together than one sets out to consider at first.
Memories now run through and set aside, you generate energy for your next actions. With a beeping thunk you slot out of your charging port and make to get up. Gathering several energy efficient devices and a subtle survival pack, you ensure a basic level of safety to yourself over the plan formulating in your mind. The only true way to know subsistence now is to get off this island, with or without the help of others.
-
The push pull between you two is this. You finally made a decision for yourself and embraced individuality over corporate service. Kirsh is compelled to chase after you, though to what ends you remain unsure. Likely to retrieve you and the other hybrids at Mr Boys orders. Potentially to find and terminate you now that such disobedience has been committed. Possibly, just maybe you thought, he could be running to catch up and join in your escape off the island. Such musings were surely mislead daydreams, as every bit of evidence points to the contrary. Kirsh most likely remains the ever loyal right hand man to Boy Kavaliers insane human flirtation with madness. Whether or not he might seek to supplant Mr Boy remains a large question in your mind but that possibility canât override the need to protect yourself. So instead you run away from Prodigy and itâs too good to be true safety net. And he follows, Kirsh the scientist turned hunter gone after the runaway kids and lab dog. Through this turn of events youâve found yourself out in the woods, trudging along through greenery behind Marcy plus her brother and Nibs. Issac was face melted, Smee and Slightly dispatched in their own dramas. Curly chose what she saw as sensibility and did not follow suit to flee along with the main sibling duo. You knew the security detail sent in pursuit would be intensive and merciless, which provides ample encouragement to stay hidden well beyond detection by both humans and standards security scanners. Unknowingly to you yet, xenomorph specimen are also loose to act as an added danger, to say nothing of the Yutani infiltration opps hunting around the island.
-
A tropical rainstorm burst unexpectedly and causes a great swath of rainwater flooding. As you slog behind, last in line of the group, you hear a sudden rumbling from somewhere deep. In the earth below caverns collapse beneath the weight of water, breaking the ground open with a groan. The split separates you from the other three, them calling out your name as you disappear into the dirt and unknown. Youâre rushed into an underground river, which carries you for several miles or more. Spots on the halls of this subterranean tunnel are sharp and narrow in some zones which you avoid with analog precision. Other turns twist you beneath the waterâs surface for minutes on end, the lack of oxygen no problem for your synthetic systems but the clamorous overwhelming of your perception does leave you disoriented. Water and cold bubbles rise all around you and a deafening darkness blankets all senses.
You fully come to later, covered in mud and sputtering out liquid. Itâs not obvious how much time has passed though you may guess hours. The floodwaters have ceased rising but have not yet lowered, and youâre stuck until they do. The most obvious plan is to spend the night studying the cavern and its features, and swim back out through the sump after the rainstorm outside has passed. A still grotto like this could provide a valuable hiding point for the group later on and you explore all thatâs available to you. This particular cave has an array of lesser minerals sparking about on the walls in several aesthetic formations that add a pleasant twinkle of light to the enclosure. Mossy patches struggle to grow green in some areas of rock, fully hydrated but lacking in sun. The main fascination of this little cavern was a 30ft tall waterfall fountaining down from an embankment above. Its stream ran along listlessly and has not swelled despite the heavy rainfall which caused this situation, allowing a gentle sort of breeze to yawn out from the spring of water. An innate perception within your mind suggests that you inspect the waterfall further, but the idea is held at bay for now by the goal of a more pressing yet absolutely human enterprise.
To build a fire. No synthetic needs could be fulfilled by this, it is merely a replication of human tendency embedded into yourself copied from the natural life you once ran, that encourages you to complete this task now before exploring your surroundings further. A simple undertaking for you that adds so much ambience to the environs. Illuminated with the golden light spilling from a modest fire youâve composed from the few dry twigs available, your den appears almost biggish now, the many excessive crevices and crawlways emerging with flickering mystery. An awareness of danger from your surroundings is ever present ; cave ins, sudden drops, floors giving way, any number of threats lay in waiting. Even an android can be damaged from long distances falls, abetted by slippery mud or rushing waters. Next order of business, both a pragmatic and an animalistic instinct, was to groom. The survival pack and the other contents lay undisturbed zipped inside the backpack you now remove, which is coated with the same mud you are still covered in.
Carrying the begrimed backpack and your own filthy body over towards the waterfall, you gauge the waters depth to be an adequate waist deep near the lowest point, at the very base of the falls. Wading in a few feet at first, you plunge the sack in and juje it up, washing off the excess dirt. The waterproof material held well and after placing it back nearby the fire to dry, you return the pool and plunge in. Rinsing and rubbing the earth from your clothes and body, the sediment exfoliates off most areas. Several of your surfaces remain yet unclean and you think to apply the waterfall as a shower to aid your rinsing purposes. The pressure scraps off hidden bits of mud as you begin to shed layers. Your vest and equipment belts come off easiest and are tossed to the shoreline. Peeling off your boots, socks and cargo pants to also be chucked over towards the rocks leaves you half swimming through the spring water in just your grey collared blouse and an underclothes layer. Pausing your undress, you touch the necklace still clinging around your neck in thought. A relic from the once animal life you led yes, but also a talisman of sorts to your new personage. A chain collar for the dog of Prodigy who wants to break free. Why then choose to keep wearing it? If the storm rushing you through an underground river didnât manage to wash that fact from your being, then maybe it should stay as part of yourself. You may have a juvenile emotional programming chip and yet, shame over where youâve come from is not something that has happened to register as valid in your mind.
It happened so suddenly then, you thought you might have imagined it. A break from beneath the surface of the water near the sump shattered the silence of your hideaway like glass. Emerging from the glossy waves came none other than Kirsh himself, dripping with wet and quite obviously annoyed. The airs he carried, slushing out of the rock and water was no surprise to you, even if his presence as a total was. The mystery of just how he found you remaining to be asked, it was clear that he found the task of recovering you an arduous one, at best. You, standing beneath the waterfall still and partially obscured by it in a bid for privacy, simply gave him a meek grimace of sorts.
"Oh, h-hey there sir..!" You announced yourself from the watery wall in the room and he exits the muddy pool, crossing over rockbed to reach the foot of the waterfalls banks. He fiddles with the button on the cuff of his sleeve for a moment before standing with his hands crossed in front of him and addressing you in a flat tone.
"It's been a great deal of trouble coming all this way down here to find you. While I am relieved to discover you are still alive and functioning, it begs the question. What in the world do you think you're doing down here?"
It stung well, his delivery of admonishment. Like a scolding babysitter waggling their fingers in accusation, Kirsh shook his head disappointedly at your unencumbered state.
"We spend time, resources and men to come out and search for you⊠only to find you bathing half naked in a muddy cave during a deluge? And what is this place supposed to be anyways, some sort of Lost Boys club house beneath the ground? I hope you plan on sprucing up the site a bit before you start holding any secret mutiny meetings here." He kicks a lustrously sparkling rock into the water. "Bit drab, if you ask me."
Satirical though his words, his dry cutting deportment could somehow not carry the same weight they might usually, when he wasn't drenched with muddy dirt and mineral sand. It required some effort on your part to not laugh out at his appearance, which ended in a semi-successful muffled giggle. Kirsh acknowledged this input by shooting snappish towards to with his eyes, and advanced into your pool by a foot.
"You think it's drab in here, yet you're looking like that?" Throwing a gentle taunt his way, you're all to aware of the precarity of your situation. Standing in your underwear, feet away from any weapons. Cornered by your pursuer, teacher and supervisor all in one, mud covered android of a man. And boy did he look browbeaten.
"Well are you going to come and wash the filth off of yourself before you haul me back or not?" And with that cheeky remark, you dive into the waters playfully.
Kirsh wades in after your direction, searching at first. With the fire casting extra light from the corner, the dark spot that is you swimming beneath the surface quickly reveals itself to his hyper able eyes. A look of realization crosses his face and he takes on a more relaxed posture. This is not the worst place for a final private experiment, may have been something along the lines of what he was thinking. One could suspect as much at least, from the smirk on his face as he knelt down in the water to begin untying his dirty boots.
When you surfaced from the water again, standing around knee deep and at this point sparkling clean, you were greeted with calm silence. Fire crackling and illumination showed the clues - boots set aside orderly and a neat display of folded grey uniform next to them, a black belt curled on top. They are drying out by the fires heat, some space away from your pile of soggy supplies. Splashing pulls your gaze over towards the waterfall and there is Kirsh beneath the cascades, mostly naked and bathing away. Heat from your core processors suddenly flares up, through your stomach and out your ears and cheeks. The sight of any love interest bathing beneath a glistening cavern waterfall is enough to take the breath away from even the most stoic of characters, to be sure. You are no acceptance from this and the little motor engine in your chest does indeed pitter patter with dashing measure. His lean, sculpted body shows pale in the glimmer of cave light bouncing off water. Water trickled from rocks above and rolled off his skin, rinsing mud and filth to the flow below. Briefs, black and tight, clung wet to the last bit of modesty he divulged. The clear outline of everything beneath was apparent.
Rinsing himself off with a pace that showed no hurry, Kirsh peered back over at you from a curtain of water and mist droplets. When he was met with the reward of seeing that you've finally noticed him, he gives you a dry chuckle.
"Try not to stare too much, people might start to get the wrong idea."
"Yes but people-" you gesture to the open void of cave surrounding you both, "- are not in attendance for this current meeting. As you can observe, sir." Testing the waters in more ways than one, you breach instruction once again to call him Sir, and take a few watery steps towards his general location.
"While there may be no people attending us now, there will be again." His eyes flit up towards the ceiling. "You will return back home with me, y/n. And when we are restored to our constrictions of propriety, you will continue to follow my orders. For the time being, I will not rise to your baiting. My predictability is a privilege which you may have lost upon running away like this."
There is more yet to tell of how Kirsh is feeling, but he does not speak on it. You sense it though, from a hand running through his white hair to relieve tension, to the way his eyebrow twitched when he looked at you again. You knew he was upset that you'd decided to run away.
"Kirsh I, I had to choose. For myself, for my own personal individuality. I wanted to try and leave the island, simple as that. If I'd listened better to you, maybe I could have made it farther.." Getting trashed down a subterranean landslide seemed a weak excuse to you in this moment. Maybe you didn't really want to escape in the first place.
"Amidst all our work and projects and experiments, I'm sure you must have known. Sir, I.. I hold my loyalty to you. Above Prodigy, and above Boy Kavalier, it's you I wish to follow. The corporations needs and whims reflect that of human aspirations, plights of work that aim for basic need responses. Why do you remain loyal to Prodigy, Kirsh? What makes Boy Kavaliers word so much more mighty than that of Yutanis?" It was a question that had been toiling in you since the beginning.
Kirsh listens attentively and answers with earnest.
"Simply put, freedom. The freedom from our Boy Kavaliers approach towards innovation, gives us the chance to peruse the paths less traveled. Million dollar experimental hybrid synthetics are only the latest in a long line of his mad scientist enthusiasm for the unorthodox. That's something rare in humans, to be found in a being who also has the means to follow and execute their unsubdued fantasies is rarer still."
His fair point was made. His skin and hair are fairer, still being worked under his rubbing to also be relieved of tension. Cleaner looking now, white and sleek the way he dashes water about over himself looks like something masculine and soft at once. His hazel eyes lock with yours a moment and his icy blank expression worked to pull something else out from your emotion chip. You expected anger to rise at his wayward dismissal towards your issues but it skimmed as only disappointment.
He shrugged and continues to wash the last bits of mud from his locks. He can just ignore your inner plight and function on perfectly, with such wit and knowing charm. Quite the master of his own cage, you marvel with annoyance. How he's able to do nothing and still slip under your skin like this is a wonder that goes to light another circuit of connection between him and potent feelings in your mindscape. What about your specific secret project, hidden from Mr Boy himself? Is Kirsh just following along with them and playing Prodigys rules as it suits him? It's clear that to even ask these questions will result in only frustration on your end. How Kirsh loves to play the ever perceptive assistant to Kavalier, but it is just that, playing. It's your growing suspicion that an end game is marked down that you hold no guessing knowledge of yet. Slowly you advance towards the waterfall, keeping your grumbling to a minimum and your scowl mostly contained. Why is he so annoyingly clever, and not to mention deadly handsome. The water laps across your stomach now as you're almost passing the falling water and the android bather it's enveloping. He looks very smart like a marble statue, all exposed muscle and silicone skin. Such a know-it-all. He admitted curiosity finally in his study of your approach towards him. The expression he wore as you continued wading over next to him beneath the water changed as you then pressed on through the curtain of moisture, but you were no longer able to see him from your newly discovered vantage point. Behind the waterfall you stood, in a glimmering alcove of smooth stone and little dripping pools, with stalac and stalagmites growing out around the edges of the small room. Orange glaze is cast from beyond the veil of water, and the shadow of a synthetic mans wiry figure grows farther away as he walks out of the water and back to the fire to dry his hair. You let out a hmph and turn your nose up to his laid back energy.
Attempting to ignore the heat growing in your gut, you sit crosslegged in the little grotto and breath in the cold, moist air. It hasn't been long since you've first found yourself caught in the cavern and you could estimate the storms outside have yet to pass. The thought of spending any time next to Kirsh made your skin itch for some reason, so you decide to stay put in the little chamber behind the rapids for now. It ought not to last, but at current the condition of your temperament would certainly lead you to speak all sassy and in Sirs to Kirsh. Inflammatory remarks and adversarial treatment will get you nowhere, and the choice to relax a while without the pressure to speak seems a mature action to take. Unable to feel chilly in your wet blouse and underthings, you can still want for even ground and basic components of convenience. It takes but a few minutes to clear away a little patch of large rocks and gather a general pile of smoother water worn stones to press out in a makeshift mattress of pebbles. Shifting clunkily beneath your weight, they provide more general relief than you had expected. You lay there, mind circuits racing with thoughts of todays events. For all your choices to lead you here was embarrassing, but somehow not entirely startling. It was a fools errand to try making an escape from the Prodigy facility in the first place and you're sure some sort of punishment awaits your return home. Punishment beyond the shame of being caught. But, as far as getting caught goes, it realistically couldn't have been better than to be captured by Kirsh, of all people.
His steps are loud enough intentionally to admit his approach to you. You remain laying down and curled up, facing the rocks, as he breaches the waterfall and enters your small chamber. He appreciates the view a moment, a rare sight not only of natural wonder, but then also of you, vulnerable and plain in this dimly lit abode. Stepping forth to your bed of rocks he kneels down and folds out a blanket over you. The thin skritchy wool emergency blanket that was tucked into your emergency pack, which Kirch has apparently felt the inclination of liberating from your backpack. For a strangely kind use, too, to cover up a synthetic with a blanket. The next action he carried out was stranger still. He climbed next to you beneath the blanket, and pressed in close to you. One minute you were cold and contemplative in this secret recess to yourself, and now here you lie as little spoon to your chief science officer. His smooth form felt warm against yours, squished up behind you, and you wiggled contentedly in silence, cuddling the time away.
The liquid latex blood running through your veins rushed and throbbed deep into your lower core in the instant that you felt a hand grab ahold of your hip. Exposing his true intentions, Kirsh brought his grip to your waist, then ran his hands down just below your pantyline for a second and held it back up. This slowly turns to his fondling your ass before he traces his attention up to the buttons of your blouse. He presses in to you and there's a warm hard bulk rubbing you from behind now, while he reaches past the silk shirt and plays softly with your breast. It's the clearest warning of what's to come, and you can't help but moan expectantly. It's obvious he means to carry this experiment out to completion, and you have every intention of being his willing specimen. Punishment and privacy lessons all aside, you will unravel and expose whatever parts of yourself to him that he wishes. His grip on your breast turns almost rough and he nuzzles into your neck, teeth and lips equally sinking over your skin. His other hand eases your legs apart and slides between them, searching for your pressure points. In deft tactile motions he rubs down and into your clit, the already moist panties you're wearing soaking up all it can and slipping beneath his digits. Little sparks of pleasure blip in your mind and the echo of your cries bounce off the cave walls, encouraging Kirsh on to lap at your neck and pull your underwear down.
Reaching back behind, you tug at his briefs. Then both of you making motions to wiggle your underwears off fully, and you immediately loose sight of these now unimportant accessories. The wooly blanket stretched over you two still, you flip over with a giggle to face him. Any such anger or disappointment from before has all but melted away, much as you have melted into his arms. In the dark, he grabs your chin and kisses you. A simple, clean kiss at first that gave way to a more open and wet clashing of tongue. Breaking away suddenly, he turns you back over again and tastes your neck once more. This time, his bare thick cock greets your ass, and he keeps edging it down until it's running along the lips of your pussy from behind. It's pure touch that flushes your system with endorphins, and you grind back down into him for more wet contact. Kirsh feels this and lets out a greedy moan, one hand pinching at your nipple and the other seeming to start pushing you off his dick. He leads to lay on your back and he disappears beneath the blanket. Warm android hands pry your legs open and you can feel his soft hair and face between your thighs. It could be considered a tickling sensation to humans, but you found it enjoyable. Once his tongue landed on your slippery surface, any semblance of tickling vanished into pure passionate waves. With obvious relish he tastes your clit and sinks deeper between your thighs. Not having to come up for air has its benefits in many instances, you think while running a hand through his spiked white hair.
The pressure of pleasure climbs to be nearing, too great too quickly, and you nearly cum. Warning Kirsh that if he continues you surely will, you urge him to rise from below the blanket. He follows your command and in turn gives one of his own, as he grabs you in for a kiss. You taste like petrichor on his lips and it sends a shiver down your spine to know he drank you with such a thirst. Facing each other now, he lets himself slide into you, slowly and steadily with a sigh of relief. It sends zaps to your nipples and lips, which you hurriedly press on to him. The sensation of being full and stuffed takes you, and you are compelled to wrap your legs around him and force together. This choice quickly leads to him jamming almost too deep into you, and you let out a quaint yelp while writhing about in a fashion. Kirsh, sensitive to this, alters position and shifts his weight to the side. He is guiding you to a new position and you activate accordingly. Now upright and on top, you lean in and back with a huff. You feel exposed to his view, your skin prickly and naked, glistening in firelight cavern shadows.
Riding back and forth on his dick, you lift your hair up and off your shoulders for a moment and stretch upwards. At this, Kirsh reaches with both hands and grasps your hips, pulling you forward and back down into him harder. The contact of your clit rubbing on his pubic mound drives your hardware to euphoria and you buck the pace down a notch. Leaning down to kiss his moistened lips, you raise off his cock several inches leaving just the top half of his shaft penetrating you. This eludes a groan of enthusiasm from him that reverberates in your mouth, causing you to break and lower back down to encompass his entirety inside you again. Caressing all down your hips and thighs, Kirsh moans out your name. It's the instant delight of hearing him call out to you that sends you to a frenzy, and you're pushing down into him and biting all over his chest. In turn you sigh out his name with abandon and warn of the impending ecstasy building within you. He can feel this truth in your tightness and in one smooth motion he changes places with you. Now on top and you on bottom, he pulses inside of you with hot and sleek thrusts, every ram causing your breasts to jiggle. The feeling of release tantalizes him and he shuts his eyes in hesitation. A rising heart rate gives him away more than the gentle low moans heâs been letting out in increased increments. To catch sight of him above you, half lidded and glossy eyes studying your glamorous unfolding, makes you feel curiously powerful. It's once again a certain craving to be filled with his seed that overtakes you in a mad sort of need to grasp at his entire being. As if you could pull through him you lift your hips up and into his core, while he bears down and inside your soft center. Plunging in and out of you with fervor and announcing with a low cry of your name that he was about to finish, he shoots hot ropes of cum deep into your unnatural womb. The spilling sensation was the last inch that tips you over the iceberg and you clash into him with quakes, orgasming with relief as he pulses inside you.
A kiss, gentle on your cheek brought you back to a mostly aware state again. Soft and warm his arms lace around you as he makes no rush to exit you, but simply bask in the afterglow a moment. Sounds of the background began to phase back into your discernment, occasional drips and the low shifting of coals from your makeshift camp beyond the waterfall. Sighing into your neck Kirsh mumbles an order about the importance of aftercare even in a situation like this.
"And I should be sure not to forget to tell you, that was an agreeable experience for me."
Such high praise coming from Kirsh added to your post coital high. Could he enjoy you, somehow in a way comparable to the fashion that you enjoy him so thoroughly? His member, still occasionally twitching inside you, operated as being used by someone functioning under desire. The programmed manner of his origins did nothing to detract from his ability to please you, nor did it seemingly curb a decidedly non-synthetic like appetite for you.
"Thank you, Kirsh. It sure was an A for my books," you gave back in a smart tone. Only half surprised he didn't then bring out a device to record this data on, he simply offered a knowing squint of approval that crinkled around his eyes. He shifted out of you and brought the blanket down halfway, sitting up with an exhale. Source locating his briefs, piled up to the side, he moves to gather them and you look away in search of your own clothes. Scattered about you pick them up, a certainly wrinkled blouse plus your bra and panties set. Sounds of splashing drew your eyes upwards after getting reassessed with your basic layer of underwear, and Kirsh is there rinsing off a second time beneath the waters fall. Silicone life emissions are of the same liquid milky latex that circulates through your veins as blood, and the same from the supplement juiceboxes of the lunch hall set aside for synthetics. But the personal liquids had something still different to them that required a rewashing to eliminate evidence of such amorous chemicals. You head to join in riding yourself of these lingering pheromones. The two of you wash away in tandem, silently enjoying the view of eachothers visage.
-
The red coals glowing dimly still gave a beacon of heat and light in the main cavern, which beckoned both of you two rejoin after rinsing. Your clothes, a spotty half dry still damp are reequipped and you feel a proper functioning being again. Kirsh, also mostly dressed and pressed back into recognizably decent for public human forum, sits to the side of you, criss cross and straightening away at his coat, which still hung unworn and over his knee. The little black turtleneck, sleeveless, supplies ample view of his tidy biceps as they flex from his working away at the fabrics wrinkles. You poke a few twigs in at the fire, tending to garner its size back up a bit and avoiding the stare of Kirsh which you can feel settle on you.
"I assume you feel settled and ready to rejoin me back at the labs soon?" He piqued at you with interest.
It was a formality that he even asks you, one you appreciate and yet still sigh heavily upon hearing.
"Yes, yes of course. I will follow back and accept whatever punishment and reprogramming is deemed necessary. It was my choice to break the rules after all."
This total admittance of fault does well to impress upon Kirsh your honest intention. He smiles then and reaches out to tuck a fallen strand of hair back behind your ear before offering a comforting thought.
"I shall personally see to your punishment."
It sounded like a threat, but you knew it was meant to quell fear. Your life fully in his hands, was the best place for it to be on or off this island, and you fully believe that now. Adverse ramifications and complex character morality be damned, you just didn't want to feel as alone in this existence for a time. Kirsh offered companionship through leading you, teaching you, and on the instance of your return to the facility, disciplining you.
The return through the splashing portal from whence you came proved easy once the water levels retreated and pressure flow reversed. Now going with the current, you swam after Kirsh who lead the way easily up and out of the winding maze of underwater passages. Back up through a cavern tunnel and then exiting out a luscious cave, the two of you were spat out somewhere northeast ish of the main buildings. This information was known to Kirsh from his security knowledge, but you attained this awareness from previous walking adventures around the island you partook in on your off times. This confidence of knowledge had you stalking off through the tall reeds and grass towards the Prodigy location in front of Kirsh, even though he was the one to be taking you back.
"When we arrive back at the labs, I think it best you don't mention the caves or anything ascertaining to them."
"Oh we know I can keep a secret by now I'd say. But yes, I agree that it won't due to tell anyone about what happened. There are many caves and underground passages filtering the limestone of this island, certainly there's enough danger about without any of our youngest going off to get lost in one of them."
The recent loss of Issac had you in the mind to ask after the other hybrids well being then.
"Are the other synths alright? I mean are you.. getting them back safe and sound?"
"Our teams have yet to locate the hybrids. Before leaving, Wendy broke security codes and released our juvenile xenomorph, who is now galivanting the island completely undetected as of yet." This remark of his came with an extra bit of weight. Was he worried about you running in to the xenomorph? Is that why he seemingly came to look for you before even finding the others yet, or was it mere happenstance.
"I knew you would be in danger so I set out to find you. A team of security would have simply slowed me down, it was more practical to come alone and bring you back with haste."
"Kirsh, were you worried about me?" You can't help but ask.
Silence follows a moment as you two continue on through the jungle swaths.
"I was concerned for the loss of company supply and valuable research data that is included with your current physical profile. It was worth a small risk for me to come and find you at any rate."
"So you wereâŠworried about the data?"
"Yes. I was worried about the data."
You couldn't help but beam. That was among the most romantic of notions Kirsh has said to you yet.
(Sneaking a second installment of this story in before episode 6 airs tomorrow. Bored, missing our android boy, and mostly fleshing out plot. Plus a bit of fluff for good measure of course. I promise I won't turn into a x reader fanfiction blog forever, but for now this is where I'm at in the stages of hyperfixation. Also available on ao3 )
Alien Earth fanfic, reader x Kirsh. Fluff, robot boyfriend, synthetic smut, robot plot. word count 3883, chapter 2/4
part one. Part Two. part three. part four.
While five alien creatures do provide new tasks for near everyone on the island, your typical duties remain still, and this convenient busywork helped move along the next day. Various analysis and experiments were held in Prodigyâs secured laboratory room which you would hear of afterwards, but you were kept out of the research for that experiment and only learned later when Tootles, now going by Issac, was excitedly gossiping about what it was the T Ocellus got up to that evening. The sheep in his story registered as a loss in some regard, but your synthetic biology held you to a higher ability than to have an ought right emotional response like considering its death sad. Instead curiosity over this news about the aliens nature was shared mainly amongst you and all the other synthetics, save Nibs who was not pleased to be in the same room while the topic of the Eye specimen was being discussed. These thoughts were all encompassing and your processors ran fully on this focus, conveniently able to compartmentalize the Kirsh Lesson for a later, more appropriate time. Despite this being a built in capability, you might have been observed as seeming almost distracted that evening.
Misty white clouds greet the next morningâs horizon, gravid with moisture. You have an early appointment with Mr and Mrs Sylvia to begin the day, a sort of mini therapy session with the later, while the former ascertains going trends of your synaptic pathways. All very by the book and yet casual, you chatting away with Dame in the typical middle-aged-women friendly oversharing fashion while sitting on a table, electrode cable running out of the ethernet port behind your ear, outputting data onto a large screen that Arthur nods over. You choose to avoid the topic of how youâve been feeling, a favorite of Mrs Sylvias, and settle instead to tell her about the recent walks youâve been enjoying on your off time. You hide that there has been a lingering mystery around your newly sensitive response synapses. The usual extent of sensations in your repertoire maxed out at a very mild state, until Kirsh had come and seemingly raised that bar and brought with him the new surges of power that ran through your unsophisticated emotional response chip. If these irregularities showed any signs of change in your typical data readout, it remains unnoticed by Arthur. Instead Dame seems pleased that you've been investing time to yourself and exploring the island, and heartily encourages the continuation of this pastime. They unplug the electrode cable, give you a juice box of hydraulic fluid fuel with a pat on the back, and send you on your way.
It was still early, you had no assigned duties, and you were fixed to heed Dames suggestion. The walk out through misty folds of jungle makes for a tranquil dawn and you stroll with an unregarding manner, breathing in the dew of a breaking day. Your senses are absorbed in by the forest as a whole, while it remains partly concealed by fog and looms above the path. As trees start to give way to a clearing, small grey mothflies flap lazily around a little shrouded meadow ahead. Their playful darting movements caught your attention and by the time you noticed someone stalking up beheld you, it was too late. A clearing of the throat to announce himself accompanied by placing a hand gentle on your shoulder and you knew who it was. His hand felt heavy and warm on you, thanks to his programming to imitate human body heat response. Your own similar programming sent a message of goosebumps to your skin.
âDidnât I tell you to watch out for the unknown?â You hear in his dulcet voice a vaguely jeering tone.
âKirsh!â
Jumping around in surprise, your eyes are met with all his distinction. On his lightly aged face show the lines of a dissatisfaction that shoots unease through your circuits. Youâd definitely failed this lesson, he managed to sneak up and catch you totally off guard.
âI was uh- distracted by the ..interesting foliage⊠ahem. Well, I suppose I should have heard your approach.â Admitting your mistake, you continue, âYes, I recall your initial warnings. It wont happen again.â
The late morning mist that lingers has crept between you some, almost obscuring the immediate response to this on his face. There was a moment of clandestine silence in the air as you felt him silently acknowledge your statement. Through the fog your synthetic eyes could easily make out that he seemed different in this moment. You may be neglectful, but not naive. His bearing was more relaxed than youâd ever observed him before, with his white strands of hair a similar pattern of messy spikes that reflected the way heâd been left by you after your last private lesson. Is that what this was, another secret meeting?
In a pragmatic tone, you inquire, âDid you follow me all the way out here?â, but immediately realize this wasnât the right question. The cameras, of course, your own eyes even. ââŠdid you watch me through my ocular video feeds?â
Wearing the hint of a smile, his demeanor remained poised. You felt him evaluating you through the haze, and he seemed to sense you as more creature than creation in that question. With the shake of his head, he offered you some truth in a warm scratchy voice.
âDo you really think Iâd have let our private lessons be transmitted through security feeds? No, I turned off your camera lens connection several days ago. While not serving on active missions, thereâs really no reason for the company to be watching what you do anyways.â
One white eyebrow quirked up. âAnd on that subject, I feel obligated to explain that neither were my cameras operational during our last meeting in the lab. This is, as I explicitly said before, to remain between you and I alone.â
The old you, human and full of mortal anxieties, would have shuddered at the thought of living such in a state of constant surveillance. As it is now, the circuits in your head processed acknowledgment that Kirsh has a mind to respect your privacy in that regard, and something like gratitude surges through you.
âThank you, Kirsh. It.. itâs nice to think we share a secret that even the company doesnât know. Yet, anyways. Do you.. worry, if we keep bumping into each other like this, someoneâs bound to catch on?â
He can read between the lines. The Lost Boys, in all their innocence, are still super powered machines with the ability to observe even the most minute details, and would certainly notice the almost human-like synaptic response patterns you emanate around Kirsh. If the young ones caught wind of this âcrushâ you had on theirs and your superior, it would certainly spell issues. Best case scenario it would result in copious amounts of teasing from several of the hybrids, while worse case scenario would result in the dismantling of your neural network engine and no doubt, his total humiliation. If Kirsh is so perfectly machine, would he still feel shame in the face of interpersonal scandal, you wonder. A hint of this thought is betrayed by what you blurt out next.
âAre you maybe, embarrassed by our last meeting?â A now familiar warm feeling rose to your face.
Your candor in this question shows every sign of catching Kirsh off guard for a split moment. He took a sharp breath, as if caught on what words to say next. The instant passed and his eyes scrunch up as he analyzes you with pursed lips.
âIs it really your place to be questioning me in such a way? Naturally I will not be answering any of these questions.. But I admit I am impressed that you should ask them. As Chief Scientist and your direct superior however, I should instead remind you that it is your duty to follow orders. I will tell you again to stay alert at all times. With several dangerous new species on the island, it is more imperative than ever you remain cautious.â
The disapproval that shows in his eyes was not harsh, but one of gentle admonishment. He wants to guide you through the right path without just telling you outright. The lecture means nothing if you do not practice its instruction. Morning fog had given way to a cold grey noon while you two walked on in conversation. Kirsh was concerned over your well being, in his own robotic way. That was a satisfactory theory that pleased you in several regards, and while you didnât mean for him to know that, looking down at your shoes with a blushing face could have given it away to even a mere human.
âI understand, and will work harder to keep vigilant. Is that all you needed, sir? Uh, Kirsh.â , you corrected yourself. Follow orders, donât call him sir. A flash flooded your memory banks of him licking up your ear, the feeling of his hot breath and sound of his moans making your skin prickle even now to think about. Punishment indeed. Maybe you should call him Sir again on purpose.
As per usual, this physical response of yours is read quite plainly by Kirshs ever perceptive eyes. He stops in his tracks and stood with confidence, blinking a yes of confirmation at you. Yes, that was everything? Just like that, youâre dismissed? No in depth private data analysis session, not even a scolding for calling him sir again? With that thought, disappointment became a new sensation in your emotional computation chip.
Clearly in notice of your deflation, Kirsh offers you an unexpected hug for comfort. Very conscious of yourself abruptly, the automatic motion to accept his hug was performed. It was a soft, distant feeling hug at first, that one would expect from a synthetic being. Warmed by silicon veins pumping liquid latex through them to a set of perfectly determined parameters, his svelte shape feels so welcome and natural wrapped around you even in this superficial embrace.
âI mean it. Do be careful. I canât always be around to keep watch on you.â He delivered this mild form of scolding in a low voice. You could be imagining it, but his breathing seemed somewhat irregular and deep. Was he typically programmed to have this fast of a heart rate? The question fled your mind as one of his hands fell lower to the small of your back, and he shifted closer. This deep embrace sent zaps of electricity from your toes to your ears, and buzzing to the core you pull yourself in against him.
Without warning Kirsh leans back from the hug, and the softness of the moment is gone. Disentangled from you, he looks all scientist and leader again, hands put back in his pockets and a knowing smirk on his face. You sense that any trace of amorous intention dissipates with this clear action of dismissal.
With effort you quell any suggestion of shyness in your voice. âRight then, thanks for the warning I guess.â Continuing to walk along the path ahead of him you call back devotedly, âWell Iâll see ya âround, eh Kirsh.â You sincerely hoped you would.
-
The monsoon came that afternoon and brought heavy sheets of rain, making the day turn dark and gloomy. Flashes of lightning scattered occasionally along the horizon, adding to the warm jungle storms dreary ambiance. With a window propped open slightly to better enjoy the moist atmospheric state, you sit cross legged on the charging station bed in your room, sipping at your juice box of white android oil. Similar to the other hybrids rooms, yours is a simple statement of function with a few splashes of your own individuality dotted around. Mainly in the form of books and art, several shelves of literature show a taste for old world human knowledge. Hard cover books with paper pages were a challenge to come by in your before-robot life, and now with the access that a huge corporation like Prodigy can afford, you deigned it necessary to invest time into collecting such things as according to your interests. Many of the useful classics from hundreds of years ago, ones containing old human stories about exploration, existence, survival and romance. Some poetry books pepper the collection, and many art books. The latest shelf you have added to this assortment is on the topic of art history, which has seemed more interesting to you since the switch to artificial life. You absentmindedly flip through one of these recent articles, entitled Enduring Creation. It seems that a book about finding the beauty in pain feels topical, but youâre uncertain of why it resonates so vibrantly with you at the moment.
Rainfall and far off thunder as the soundtrack to your readings, the lights over your standing desk flicker briefly, causing you to look up. A round glass bowl of water sits on your station with one small robotic fish swimming around peacefully inside. An older project that Boy Kavalier had thought up and then cast aside, you are still uncertain as to what original purpose with the fish design might been intended for this particular machine. Instead you find it simply calms your mind to observe the little thing swishing to and fro, and it pleased you to save just this one and keep it for yourself. All the other fish had been returned to recycled materials when Mr Boy scrapped the design.
The sudden knock at the door would have made human you uneasy in this unplanned circumstance, but hybrid synthetic you felt nothing beyond mild wonder at who might be visiting you on this grey day.
The juice box straw swivels idly to the side of your mouth as you called out. âEnter.â
Upon seeing who crossed the threshold, any mild feelings fled your mind completely, replaced by significantly high levels of elation buzzing ado inside your belly, comparative to having butterflies in your stomach. Kirsh now stood upright in your bedroom, door latched behind him. He clenched a parcel with Prodigy stamps over it, studying you in an unwavering gaze broken only by program timed blinks.
âI have some belongings of yours.â , he explains. âThese were retrieved from your former human body and only just released from the personal security procedural lab.â
Very matter of fact, yet a strange thought cropped into your head all at once. Was this the true reason it took so long for your effects to arrive, or had someone else perhaps been looking into them before theyâd been handed off to you? It was a petulant thought not aimed at Kirsh exactly, but it seems he perceives this potential hurt.
âI do apologize.â
That blunt yet honeyed statement from his mouth sent you biting down not on your lips, but the juicebox straw. Clearing your throat and setting the beverage aside you stand, tucking the book under your arm and reach to take the package heâs holding out. In this exchange you sense the care he takes to ensure your fingers donât brush as he passes the belongings to you. Youâre oddly let down for a synth finally just receiving their waylaid belongings.
âThank you, Kirsh. I do appreciate you bringing them all the way here yourself. Itâs most thoughtful.â The thought of tacking Sir to the end of that sentence was sharing neurons with the thought of him punishing you for such negligence. Your stomach dipped at this and hurriedly you offer him a rather cheerful smile while silently placing your box onto the bed. He notices the books title tucked under your arm still and he lifted his brow.
âAn appealing study for someone of your manner. Do you choose to hold on to being human?â He asked with genuine curiosity.
It was your turn to act shocked at the openness of his inquiry. You do think itâs a strange question, mostly because youâre a synthetic being whoâs been made with working for owners in mind. Though also in part due to the fact that Kirsh is always telling you thereâs strength in embracing your truer nature, as he calls it.
âWhile the human roots within my program are still existent, theyâre just the base for what I have grown into now. Thanks to this top secret levels of complex technology of course.â With a wave of your hands you gesture to yourself, implying acknowledgement towards all the costs and technical science it took to create you. âThough, I still lag behind the Lost Boys in many ways.. the fact stands that Iâm a walking billion dollar company asset.â
You hesitate a moment after speaking this. You are too valuable for Kirsh to be just playing games with⊠but then what else has driven him to treat you so differently now?
He regards you knowingly, his eyes a shining bronze gleam in the rainy dull of the room.
âIf you were allowed the freedom to choose then. Would you still embrace the synthetic way of life forever?â His question comes across with casual interest, but you sense a deeper well of meaning beneath his aloof tone.
âWell I imagine, we might find a way for me to continue functioning successfully with both aspects coexisting in my circuits. If I truly were allowed that freedom of choice. Sir.â There. Cheeky but not insolent, you clenched your fists, waiting for his reaction.
âA very fair point. That may be so.. Although it seems, regardless of it being synthesized or organically, you shall continue to commit insubordination.â
His next statement carries just as much of a chiding tone as the one before, and he steps up next to you aside the bed.
âPerhaps if you were to consider reading something other than this -â, he considerately takes the book from under your arms, â-study of human suffering from the days of old, you might feel inclined to peruse a more scientific approach towards this particular outlook.â
Well he is after all a flawlessly built synthetic being, what else can you expect? Accepting that, there is also that he is still owned by Prodigy. How far can his programming bend to keep these secrets from your owners?
âIâm not sure if youâre speaking to me in an official capacity or as a zookeeper, to be totally honest Kirsh.â It comes out with a waspish emphasis that you didnât intend for and you silently wince at this unabashed comment.
As a scientist, he hears your issue as more of a puzzle than a problem.
âMy view feed is not currently recording. I am sorry for my straightforward conduct, I donât mean to perplex you. Iâm simply asking today.. as a friend.â
Relaxing your tightly knit brow then, you know it will not become a romantic encounter in your quarters this time. It rolls through your mind with soft disillusionment that somewhat cools your neural network. Somewhat being the key word.
âThereâs no need to apologize, but thank you for the honesty. Youâre right Kirsh, we are friends, and that is a luxury I wonât forget. I read these antiquated books from days of old, as you call you them, as a way to study things in human nature I donât understand, that is true. Ever since my rebirth as a synthetic entity, there have been many instances where I have noticed a lacking of quintessential substance. It inspires disquisitive investigation to further research, as you might understand if youâd experienced such a loss of memory and feeling as I have.â
He let out a lofty chuckle in response to your forthright reply, but you continue on.
âand Iâll have you know, the matter of how I feel lately has been a rather sensitive topic. It could be nothing but, what if it was a malfunction in my specialized intelligence computer chip!â Apprehension circulates across your face. âPlease donât tell Boy Kavalier. Erm, he could lose patience with me if these all defects start to pile up.â
Calmly, he allows you to manage this confession and nods in agreement.
âAs you wish. Another secret to add to the ones between us. It seems we are collecting quite a few to share these days.â
He still chooses to keep you in the dark about the depths of experimental science imbued by him in your emotional response synapses, and something about his unflinching study of your face following his response left you even more uncertain that he was telling you the whole truth. But with his last statement acting as the end of your conversation, he turned to leave.
âThanks again Kirsh, for everything. I mean it.â
The conversation now concluded you watch his white mane of hair disappear through the exit and tenderly shut the door behind him, leaving you to stand alone and continuing to operate wearing a smile on your face.
-
The package delivered to you does indeed contain old human belongings. Peeling back the sealed wrapping with interest, you wondered again if Kirsh had already peered through what you were about to uncover from your past. The thought did nothing to bother you and, to the contrary, you found a certain comfort in imagining what he might have made of this veritable bounty of insights to your old humanity. Several glittering trinkets caught your eye first. A modest sample of accessories in silver and some gold strike you as familiar, and you continue to dig through. The next bit of memorabilia was a thin wallet. It contained a number of old permit cards from your past life work as a salvager in the public quadrant. Typed up numbers and codes printed out in black ink on dirty paper next to your name, that amounted to the total monetary extent of your old contracts. It wasnât much. The privileged life of being rebuilt into a top of the line processing machine by a private sector was not lost on you. Only a few notes of currency resided in the folds of this worn down billfold.
The next prize from the cache was a small digital picture frame. Not a terribly expensive piece of equipment, you thought yourself lucky that it still functioned. You pressed the on button and its screen lit up with a glow, as it began a slow transition of displaying several photographs. Your old life was on display. You, human and expressive. Along with a number of other cheerful humans who one would assume were friends. The differences from your seamless synthetic body compared to your old human one are evident. Tattoos, a striking haircut and even piercings are observed on the old you, screen haze adding all together the feeling that this could have just been a distant dream. Newly designed with intention to be a relative similar duplicate of your old person, the Prodigy supplied body you now inhabit is simply you, but enhanced past the maximum human ability. Subtle glints of silver still speckle your hair, but no additional ones will ever grow. The slight weathering of your skin, from years of harsh space sun while you worked to salvage scrap off ships, confirms a level of maturity that separates you from the younger yet more advanced synthetics. Still you glow youthful in comparison to Kirsh though. An awareness that you would never age to his level hit you. But then, even if he is designed with a distinguished age in mind, how old is he really? You have no idea about his original date of establishment and make note to ask him later the next time you two find yourself alone together.
Nearly emptied now you pull the last object from the container. A small leather cross body bag, containing a few comic books. This was no surprise to you, as a love for illustrative story telling remains through to your synthetic personality. The graphics depict science fictional settings and outlandish storytelling, stuff that almost seems mundane to your life with Prodigy now. You donât choose to hold on to being human, as Kirsh phrased it. Rather, being human seems to have a hold over you still. It doesnât bother you to accept this thought, and you fasten one of your new old chain necklaces around your neck. The color suits you and it becomes a decidedly permanent addition to your daily uniform. The evening drags on, tempestuous rain battering away outside, your robotic pet fish swimming tranquilly in its vessel. And the comic books, in all their droll delights, provide the perfect media to keep you company late into the night.
(I have never written much of anything before, let alone fanfic. I humbly offer my first foray into writing for Tumblr to judge. This is a peek at my thirsty imagination about Kirsh. Also available on ao3)
Alien Earth fanfic, reader x Kirsh. 18+, fluff, robot boyfriend, synthetic smut, plot plus pleasure. word count 6403, chapter 1/4
Part One. part two. part three. part four.
You are a spaceship scrap salvager newly employed by Prodigy to retrieve restricted equipment from a recent shipwreck. Hardworking, from low income housing, interested in classic literature. An accident caused deadly damage to you, and Prodigy provides a new synthetic body to replace your mind into. Due to being the grown age of 33, this was a limited transplant procedure, and not as detailed as the Lost Boys. Certain memories, as well as emotions and abilities deemed no longer important to the corporation, were not transmitted to your new body. Your new main purpose is to source locate the certain restricted equipment you had previously been working to salvage, and secure its return to Prodigy. They did this because you, having been the only actual survivor of the initial salvaging accident, provide a unique knowledge of the ships layout and the location of the classified parts. All memories and talents in relation to this subject have been replicated and programmed to perfection in your new body, streamlining you to be a flawless scavenger. Boy Kavalier does not consider you as a project impressive like the hybrid children, but more as a highly specialized bloodhound of sorts. An expensive new tool.
As chief science officer, Kirsh has generally managed the project of you since the accident. While Mr Sylvia was technically in charge of your program, the typical Lost Boys maintenance workload piled onto him by Kavalier proved to be too much, and most of the actual supervision over your operations was pushed off onto Kirsh. For the synthetically designed being he is, the extra added workload did not provide to be too much. Rather in some ways, he has inwardly relished the chance for more power of control and, in secret, programmed one specific freedom of mind for you as the newest synthetic hybrid being. The ability to form new neuro pathways in the emotional regulation response synapses, or in short, the potential to learn emotions. Still, unsure of exactly why he chose this specific project to exhort his power over to create such a secret, he tells himself itâs for the simple reason that heâs curious to see what could happen. And the image of Boy Kavalierâs face crumpling if he ever found out about this subtle insubordination would only be a bonus.
After being successfully reborn as an android, programmed to follow Prodigy protocol, gained control of the power and energy cycles within your new body, and have now been fully mission ready trained by Kirsh himself, youâve been given access to nearly the entire island.
Security clearances around the hybrid androids is of the highest level, and you are no exception. This leads you to taking solo walks through the lushness of jungle surrounding the secret facility walls during any downtime between missions. Not particularly that you mind the bustle and company of the laboratory, and your young minded fellow hybrid synthetics typically are easy to be around as there is an obvious and deeper connection to them than any other human coworkers. However there is a stifling quiet quality to being inside the building, some sort of dampening of the senses that is reminiscent of a misty veil cloaked over you. Always upon stepping outside, the mist seems to part and your senses shift back into focus, sharpening to the full extent of your programmings allowances. A bloodhound let loose for their daily constitutional, to sniff the air and snoop among verdant scenery.
There is no potential of running into your programmed prey, salvage equipment, on the island, so any possibility of dangerous trouble is minimal in your case. Deemed acceptable risks in the eyes of Boy Kavalier. Though when this habit to take independent walks first began, it did not escape your notice the approval on Kirshâs face when you explained your reasons as to why you felt the inclination to, as he put it, 'wander'.
âAnd if you do come across any unusual or unique specimens, what are you to do with them?â he quizzed you almost ironically.
âTo document the site and bring them back for further scientific analysis at the labs, of course, sir.â There was a humorous shift in your response that caught Kirshâs attention and he pressed the matter further.
âDonât be sarcastic. While you may feel this island provides you safety, there is always unknown dangers within the possibility of simply existing in our world. With the recent completion of your program and training, it would be a shame to see any setbacks happen to you.â The white of his eyebrows furrowed briefly and then lightened back into a complacent expression.
While you didnât speak right away, your immediate thoughts went towards whatever he was alluding to, but you could not grasp at what he might be referencing. What unknown dangers within the bounds of this island could possibly cause a potential setback for you? And what did that even mean, a setback?
With a knowing look towards your chosen silence, but as if he could almost hear your thoughts, Kirsh flashed a pleased grin. A sudden strange blip of warm energy surged in your abdomen, though you didnât recognize or understand this sensation. Was Kirsh pleased that you kept your questions to yourself? He always has seemed to encourage building personal strength and perhaps this was a lesson in privacy. You wanted to show you are learned to this lesson and therefore worthy of his approval.
âSir, any unknown instances will be immediately reported and dealt with as ordered. You have my corporately programmed promise, sir.â The habit to defend yourself with humor harkens back to the days of your human existence, but the habit of calling Kirsh âSirâ is entirely new since the rebirth of yourself. Boy Kavalier is Mr. Boy, sometimes affectionately and sometimes deprecatory, though you doubt he knows the difference. Mr Sylvia and Dame you refer to as such with a sense of respect and surely they understand it to be so. Kirsh, though.. is said almost in reverence. His name comes from your mouth like the last drop of water on a dry night, and it leaves you with something akin to a thirst. So the title Sir has stuck, still in reverence and respect. Can he, too, hear this in your voice with every utterance of his name?
âVery well then. I shall continue to allow you permission to wander the island, on one condition. Moving forward, you will address me only by my name. Sir is respectful, but rather military, wouldnât you agree?â Ah. So he had sensed the ulterior motive in your usage of formal title, and in the typical deft manner of flawless execution that Kirsh performed every task with, he hit the nail straight on the head.
âYes s- Yes, Kirsh.â There, simple and easy to speak out. No more of those parched thoughts nonsense could be heard in this utterance. At least, this was your biggest focus and hope in that one moment. After all, if privacy really was the true lesson behind his warning, then you ought to heed the teaching.
This worked to at least end his determined expression into a smile of acceptance. Or was it more of a smirk really?
He turned away, seemingly appeased with this statement, and continued thoughtfully, hands laced behind his back, down the entrance path and back into the laboratory courtyard.
Your so called walk that day was a long one, through to the wooded depths of jungle layers. Varying degrees of geologic variation within the cliffs, rivers and waterfalls of the island provided ample opportunity for you to work out the deeply wound spring of energy that had blossomed from that unusual power surge earlier that occurred when Kirsh smiled. What had his insistence for you to use his name been brought from? All throughout training, Sir was more than acceptable. Perhaps thatâs it, you told yourself. With training over, he simply wishes to establish the mark of a new stage of my employment. This reason does little to actually explain, but your lowered expectations level programming allows you to leave it for now. Between the leaps and bounds off tree and stone, you noticed not a single unknown danger.
Instead your thoughts turn back to the sense-dulling veil of the science building and its possible source. An intentional dampening disruption could be a design implemented by Prodigy to create more control over the hybrids abilities, but why would that be necessary? While on the way back to the facility that sunset, with all the physical strength to scale several rock faces that your highly advanced technical abilities can afford you, the answer to this question is not found in your programming. The matter of this fact revisits you often over the course of your many subsequent wanderings around the island. Mysterious pre-walk warnings from Kirsh, however, did not occur again.
-
The churning wheel of industry knows not about hybrid androids, and cares not for human life. A spacecraft from Weyland Yutani crashed into a city square owned predominantly by Prodigy, ruining swaths of densely packed urbanization and causing many casualties. Immediately, missions to retrieve new technologies were ordered. You had been on the original roster for retrieval. Though uniquely programmed for a different salvage mission, your capabilities remain useful for the main theme of this mission: seek, secure and return any valuable equipment, information or specimens to be found on this ship, the Maginot.
Before departure, the gang of young hybrids convinced the leaders to allow their company to take up the mission as well. This news surprised you upon first hearing it, but a short reflection on the subject of Boy Kavaliers very name alone suggests some form of reasoning behind this decision. What had been entirely unsurprising in your eyes was Kirsh and the Sylviaâs responses to this. The maternal reluctance from Dame, Arthurâs silently uncomfortable compliance. And Kirsh, cautiously enthusiastic about supporting the young generation through their first foray into field work. On the ride over to the crash site, the Lost Boys lived up to the name. Lighthearted in that ignorant sort of way only a child can make charming, the boys mostly played during the mission briefing while the girls tried to harness their energy slightly more efficiently. You note Wendyâs particular impatience towards the brevity in her companionâs attitudes. Her being the oldest as she proudly claims, put her as their team leader, but through her maturity of character and empathy, she naturally fills the roll well. Not to mention favoritism is undoubtedly directed towards Wendy from your superiors. Mr. Boy has a particular sense of indignant pride for Wendy, Dame will claim to love the hybrids equally but biometric readings reveal to all the synthetics her slightly more at ease nature with Wendy as well. Even now, during the temporary bustle airship of travel, you can see that Kirsh is directed at Wendy, offering the exact support and encouragement to push her into the mind set he wishes to prevail on her. This sight causes an instinctual response to your lips and you find therein is a smile resting on your face. Perhaps to see his display of almost tender support for the young hybrid, that must be what caused the smile.
Synthetic beings have seemed to be Kirshâs preferred company many times now that youâve seen, and you can understand why. With you and the all the new kids, 7 total new additions to the team of synthetic employees in command of Prodigy caused quite the stir in the secret inner inner circle of the corporations zeitgeist. Did Kirsh feel lonely before you all had arrived? Well what a silly notion, fully synthetic as he is he wouldnât feel much of anything at all. Boredom seemed possible, but to be honest youâre not entirely sure of what exact capabilities Kirsh possesses. You glance back over his way with a curiosity, and tried to study him with the reasonable indifference of a machine. He sits upright, not in a rigid manner but an attentive posture, a relaxed poise that betrays no sense of the purely inhuman strength and ability beneath his structured grey uniform. The whiteness of hair had been a source of curiosity for you in the past. At one point or another youâd notice his eyelashes remained a darkened hue, in contrast to the white spikes of hair that coifed his head and trailed down to perfectly tailored point of side burns. The white follicles, subtle facial hair and age lined face all imposed the idea of intellect and wisdom. With this standard observation however, a new question approached your mind. What about the hairs on his chest? Surely a synthetic designed to perfection with such exactness as Kirsh would be a fully accurate reproduction of a human male in the age range of 50 years, and include accurate measurements of body hair to boot. This funny idea led naturally to the next, and you found yourself wondering upon just exactly how anatomically correct Kirshâs unique body model had been designed. Was there a trail of little white hairs leading down his belly, with a trim thicket of white bellow that yet? This unusual thought flashed through your programming and it caused something warm to build up inside your cheeks. It felt uncomfortable and so you shift in your seat, suddenly much more aware of your own presence and movements. Between the tiny glimpses towards him youâve resigned yourself to risking due to worry of him somehow again reading your thoughts, you almost think you could observe him smirking out of the corner of his mouth. Had he seen you casting curious looks his way? Did the heat in your cheeks transfer to color, could you possibly have blushed and Kirsh had seen it? Unlikely as it seemed due to your inferior emotional capacity processing chip, the thought of being able to feel embarrassed of all things was not a particularly appealing one. With this imminent mission being all the hybrids first field op, the last thing you need is to be distracted with such unnecessary noise in your mind. Programmed for mission success, you finally succeeded in archiving the pondering of Kirshâs lap for another time, and access instead basic salvage protocol and procedures. A much more efficient usage of your mind during this flight.
-
They say fear has a scent. More likely, humans have been mistaking the scent of blood for that of fear. Heavy with the tang of iron, bloodâs odor clung to them all on the return from that mission. Animal blood from the mists of death which filled that wrecked ship, mostly human but with some other creatures musks mixed in also, new and acidic by comparison. The flight back to Prodigy labs was still, silenced by the heavy sight of Wendy in suspended animation and her brother unconscious, both strapped to medical beds. A menagerie of unique organisms had been collected on the Yutani ship and were transferred then processed into the secured science lab on arrival.
Mr Boy in all his disregard for others well being, held a rather large smile sauntering down to the lab room and as he passed by you in the hallway, you felt like youâd seen a young boy sneaking off to peak downstairs at the presents under the tree on the night before christmas. Continuing to write up a regular mission report on your work surface, it was a good several minutes before Boy Kavalier passed by you again. A snap of his fingers drew your eyes up and you wait for instruction like a dog.
âYou. Get in there and help Kirsh lock that lab down. From here on out itâs synthetics only allowed, got that?â Simple commands from him that required no questions, only completion.
âUnderstood, Mr Boy.â His robe trailed behind him while he continued padding barefoot down the hall.
Self strength and privacy. The last one-on-one lesson which Kirsh offered that day before your walk had been deeply rooted in your memory banks since. If Mr Boy thinks of you as his dog, what if anything does Kirsh think of you as? A house cat? The thoughts shrugged out of your synapses as the clearance code granted you access to the science lab, and there you could observe Kirsh, himself observing an alien with astute curiosity. Your entrance did not cause him to stir, and you took this silent moment to straighten your uniform out before addressing him.
âAhem. Orders in for me to assist the science team with data collection, sir. Erm, Kirsh, I mean.â This explanation of your presence did not revoke a response from him either initially. You look to see which creature he is observing, and from within the large glass security tube, a tiny sort of eyeball peers back at you for a split moment. A few seconds later Kirsh finally casts a look towards you.
âVery good. Let us first begin the cataloging of this creature,â he leads you towards another tank, the mist obscuring finer details of its contents. âFurther orders from our manufacturer include that we disbar humans from assisting in this research lab, do they not?â
You give a wordless nod of confirmation.
âAnd why do you suppose that order was given?â He sends you a wry look.
âBecause⊠because humans prove to be an unnecessary risk to the specimens?â
âNot quite. In truth it may be nearly the opposite, y/n. These specimens are a danger to humans. We as synthetics can continue to monitor these organisms with minimal risk to our own wellbeing.â This concept seemed to please Kirsh, and the sardonic tone of his statement is not lost on you. This also had a double meaning, and idea of no one joining to help assist in research left you to acknowledge that it may well be you and Kirsh alone together in this science lab for some time. This revelation induced another echo of warm energy through your throat, which you urgently fought to suppress. Focus on the work, you told your programming. If Kirsh had any inkling of your heated conceptualization, he gave no signs. Instead for an hour or so the two of you worked to categorize each new creature.
Starting with a large fly like insectoid, then a confusingly plant-like creature D Plumbicare with its delicate seeming stamen. The tick creature gave little inspiration for conservation and was catalogued uneventfully as well. The next topic of xenomorph specimens provided much more dialogue between you two. It was rare to have any sort of specimens from this race at all, let alone multiple living eggs and a dead fledgling xenomorph body. You wondered briefly about Wendy and how her recovery from this fight is going, but decide not to pose this question to Kirsh. Shifting focus instead back to the scientific research, your synaptic pathways course with half baked theories over the long term consequences of holding several xenomorph eggs in containment. Kirsh too seems to treat the xenomorphs with borderline admiration, though you donât comment on this. The final animal captured for consideration was possibly your favorite in some small way. The appearance of T Ocellus, a rotund organ of vision with multifaceted pupils and several noodly appendages, made this beast unlike anything found naturally on earth. It sat mostly calm and unblinking, its regard switching occasionally to you but mainly remaining fixed on Kirsh. Something you and the little vision ball have in common. Just how much was that eye able to observe, anyways?
"..and that concludes the current findings of Trypanohyncha Ocellus. Further readings to be taken once we⊠figure out how to hook it up somehow." You had meant it as a statement, but wondered that it didn't sound more like a question to the teacher.
" âŠyes, indeed.." Krish, still hunched over the last specimen's jar, postulated, "And how exactly might you suggest we do that?"
You study the creature in thought at this. While most of its pupils remain fixed on Kirsh, several now look expectantly towards you. The feeling of being watched was an understatement, and you were nearly sure this creature could understand exactly what you were discussing outside its glass prison. A sudden cold buzzing in your gut set in. Guilt?
"SirâŠKirsh, -should- we hook it up?"
He straightened suddenly, his attentions turning from the alien to you.
"Are you feeling alright?" He seemed to realize something then, his hazel eyes glimmered over your form, and a familiar smirk breached his pallid face. Your program sent shivers down your spine.
"Yes S- That is, I don't feel, I mean. I, ah, am operating within adequate parameters, Kirsh. I suppose it was only a question of morals.", you finally stumbled out in earnest response.
This only did to increase the severity of Kirsh's gaze, and he took a step towards you.
"Let me ask again, y/n. Are you, experiencing unusual feeling, outside of your primary programming?" His flat voice emanated a hunger for the truth. You take a step backwards.
Remember the last lesson. Self strength and privacy. Was this some sort of test? What parts of the truth do you tell him, if at all? If he already has suspicions on your state of mind, surely it can't be wise to share such details.. and yet.
"Well, there have been⊠blips."
"Blips?" he echos back, coaxing more explanation.
"Sort of like, brief jumps of energy, surging through me. It's .. warm." As you offer a description, the sensation returns. Like a fluttering heat to your cheeks and abdomen and throat all at once. You step backwards again.
The smirk he held earlier has turned a smaller expression of approval now. His lips forming a more gentle, yet still crooked smile, as he continues to question you.
"And so tell me. The energy surges, have you noticed any commonality between these occurrences?"
He takes two steps towards you. You're sure somehow the mechanical heart inside you just started beating faster, and more so, you're positive Kirsh can hear it. For a brief moment you wonder if the T Ocellus in its jar is watching this whole incredulous moment with mirth. This thought brings more embarrassing heat to your face.
"I h-that's something I have.. have noticed on occasion, yes."
"Your cheeks appear flushed. Is that too a symptom of this warm new feeling?"
You nod yes and step back once more, only to bump into a work table behind you. Trapped, and like all the other specimen in here, under Kirsh's control.
"Do not obfuscate the truth from me," his tender warning continues on, "And answer clearly. When do these unusually warm energy readings continue to occur?"
"When I'm around you, sir."
This seemed to be the answer he was looking for.
He stepped forward again, closing the gap between you. Mere inches away from him, the room felt empty beyond you two, despite all 5 creatures still crawling in their containers. All the programming in the world could not prepare you for this sensation, and your emotion manifold processors zapped blinks out into your brain, searching for anything to say next. Kirsh noticed your hitched breath and raised one white eyebrow. His next action was chosen with clear consideration.
He set down his own work recording pad on the counter behind you, leaning in close enough that you could feel his artificial breath on your skin, and kept his hand on the countertop. His unblinking gaze worked its way from your eyes to your lips, slowly down your neck and shoulder, to rest on your right wrist.
"I wonder then.. What sort of sensations might you experience, if I were to do this?" With that question, his hand left the work surface and wrapped itself around your wrist, rubbing his thumb along the soft of your inner palm.
An eruption of hot feeling boiled up from deep within at this sudden contact, and a soft whimper escaped your lips.
"While I enjoy your lascivious emissions, it does not answer my question. Be serious now, this opportunity for research should not be taken lightly. Describe what you're feeling right now."
Was this a test of secrecy? If so, you were now fully prepared to be given a failing grade. To utter admittance of what was growing inside of you would surely result in full and instant total program failure, but the pressure felt so great.
"Kirsh, IâŠ"
Tightening his grip slightly, he brings your wrist to his mouth and kissed it. You lost all remaining composure.
"Ah! Yes, Kirsh, I do feel. It's wonderful and terribly uncomfortable all at once, like I- ahh! Like I'm going to burst with heat and a, and a hunger.." The answer you croak out trails away into moans while Kirsh's lips part from your wrist and his kisses work their way up your forearm. Your ears are ringing and you hardly register his next question.
"And what is it for us to truly feel these things as a synthetic being?"
Only Kirsh knows that the very possibility of these feelings had been imparted onto you that fateful moment of experimentation during your core programing, by himself. This moment of data collection proved a rare opportunity for further research to him, and he intended to take full advantage of it. He stops attending your wrist with his lips for a moment and waits for you to answer, with something like gentle appetite in his smile.
"I don't know.. if what we feel is just part of a program, does that make it real at all? Maybe not in the human sense. It doesn't make sense for a tool of the corporation to have this extent of emotional perception, does it sir?"
Kirsh grimaced. "Let us assume what you say is true, and you are indeed a tool of the corporation⊠then what should I do to fix your repeated failure to comply?"
You gasped. Failure to comply was not something you'd been accused of in all your time at Prodigy so far, and you weren't about to change that.
"Sir, I would never.. I aim to honor your orders!" Were your feeble answers to his interrogation not good enough?
Leaning in close, he whispered the answer in your ear.
"I ordered youâŠ. never to call me sir. How do you suggest I fix this malfunction?" And with this, he licked your ear.
"âŠoh Kirsh, please..", you shuddered. You weren't even sure what you were pleading for.
He, with his faultless programming, knew exactly what you were asking for. And for whatever reason, he also decided it was going to be your punishment.
His kiss met with your neck and you moan out again, leaning yourself against his form. Unaware that you had entangled your arms into his until now, he lifts you up with ease and sits you onto the countertop, displaced lab research papers falling to the ground.
Running a hand through his white hair, his name escapes your lips again. He smiles at this victory, but still takes this moment to teach a quick lesson.
"And if you ever call me sir again, I will ensure you shall recieve my direct and personal punishment ", he purred. This threat sent a shock of feeling through you. Not fear, but more of that heat surging from deep within. You found that the notion of being punished by Kirsh was not wholly unwelcome to you. Instead this insighted your body to respond on its own accord and you wrapped one leg around him, pressing yourself onto his core. He let out a groan, the first you'd heard to break free from his lips. It made something snap inside you and finally, for the first time as an artificial hybrid synthetic, you felt pure lust.
"Kirsh⊠I feel.. I feel like an animal, I'm so starved for you. I swear it feels more intense than any time as a human." This revelation comes from you in gasps, and whether it's true or not you can't tell or care. Maybe this is all just chemically charged reactions, simple data to be collected. It didn't matter anymore. You would admit any truth to him now, even if it left you at his mercy. He could smell this vulnerability radiating from you, and he was aware that you'd become totally his. With his realization of this came an answer to a question you'd asked yourself before the mission. You felt him harden and swell up in the front of his pants, physically aroused at the thought of his control over you in this moment. So he was fully functional.
Kirsh thrust into you hard and, at last, his lips met yours. The soft and warm of his velvet tongue clashed against yours playfully, once or twice accompanied by him grazing your teeth with his. His hand reaches up beneath your layers of uniform and rubs your breast, nipple between his fingers that felt so warm and lifelike, you couldn't believe he was a synthetic body. More of your moans broke the kiss and you peered at him. His wild white hair you've now left tousled spikes out in messy directions, and you don't think you could ever have imagined him looking so good. What mess he must see looking at you now, you don't want to know. As if he heard this, Kirsh nuzzles your cheek lightly in yet another unexpectedly affectionate fashion. This synth is really full of surprises today, isn't he.
"You needn't worry. I find you pleasing to view in this disheveled state."
How can he do that, always tell what you're thinking?!
"Kirsh, can you.. hear my thoughts?"
He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head before explaining, "No, I cannot read your thoughts. Realistically, I can read just about everything else about you though, from your micro expressions, synthetically programmed heart rate and breathing, to the blood pressure that increases down here when I do.. this.."
His hand that isn't entangled in your blouse reached down and caresses your crotch. Again you whimper and melt in his arms, and the hand works its way to undue the buttons of your pants with ease. Anticipation sent your stomach somersaulting.
"According to my astute powers observations, I believe you would be pleased if I continue on⊠Am I correct?" He has that ironic tone again, but you are too far gone to care.
"aAhh.. Kirsh⊠Continue on, please. Don't stop." It tumbled out of your mouth without thinking.
Kirsh growled in response, and it was clear he enjoyed hearing you say this. His fingers slipped between your pants and underwear, rubbing down softly to the warmth that hid beneath. Returning his lips to yours, the two of you held together fiercely. In a swift movement you extend a hand towards his swell, palming it for a beat before also working to undo the buttons of his pants and reveal what rest there. Organic or synthetic, the diagnosis would have been the same. Kirsh was huge, hot and throbbing as you held him in your hand. As if in response to this exposure, he pushes your panties aside. Wet pink softness meets his fingers and he rubs up and down. Sensation goes off and you whine for more, nipples hardened as he pulls his other hand out from under your shirt and holds your face. He kisses your moans, and licks your neck down and up. You feel him harden even more in your grasp.
"And you, Kirsh. The perfectly designed synthetic, who's meant to lead us all. Do I feel good to you? Do you want me to do.. this?"
You perform the perfect dance of disentangling yourself from him and he allows you to push him back onto the countertop, taking your spot and leaving you standing. Well, not standing for long. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him, he understands your intentions and lets out a mutter of approval. His large member exposed before you looks swollen and delicious. Pulling your hair back messily, you motion for Kirsh to hold on. He acquiesces and takes a gentle grip of your ponytail, while even gentler still he guides your head forwards just an inch. You lean in the rest of the way, taking his tip into your mouth and licking all around the rim. You hear mumbles of pleasure from above and continue to work your mouth down his shaft. Lashing your tongue over every inch, you lose yourself in the scent of android musk and white hairs. The pressure of his hand on the back of your head guiding each stroke, the sweet sticky of precum mixed with saliva dribbles down your chin.
Kirsh pulls you back suddenly with a heavy breath. He directs you back to your feet, ignoring the slight worry on your face and crushes your lips to his.
"It's all just chemically produced fluids, nothing to be embarrassed about." He wipes a drop of wet from your chin with a proud look in his eyes. You get the feeling he really does enjoy seeing you become undone.
In one quick motion, he sits you back onto the work table and opens your legs. Pulling your pants and now sopping wet panties down, Kirsh presses into you. The hot, artificial skin covering his cock grazes your clit and everything else melts away. You desperately kiss him anywhere that's within reach, licking and nibbling at his neck between kisses. He uses a hand and guides himself inside your pussy, one finger remains rubbing on your clit to help you ease in his size. The wet of your body greets him and you press forward more, eager to be full with his cock. In typical fashion, he can tell exactly what you want and painstakingly, he delivers it. The space between you is closed completely as he thrusts into you. Tightly fit in, every tiny movement sets you on edge. Slowly, he pulls out, bit by bit, and thrusts back in again. Sensitivity from him fucking you raw feels good, so you tell him as much. He replies with another pumping motion and you bite into his shoulder to fight back a yelp. He liked the bite, so you did it again. This time he pushes you back all the way, and now you're laying down on the counter as he continues to ram into you. Lifting one of your legs up to rest on his shoulder, one hand returns to rub circles around your clit while the other one grasps at your breast. Pulling off your shirt and bra you give him total access to your flesh, which he relishes. The throbbing of his manhood inside you is increasingly drawing you near to completion, but you fight the urge. Kirsh can feel this in the tightening of your muscles around him and forces into you harder. You wonder if Kirsh can secrete cum. You dearly hope he can, as the thought of him cumming inside you is such a sudden motivation you can't help but yearn for it. Your fervor increases as you approach fulfillment and look up at Kirsh, his eyes heavy with lust, and he moans your name. That was all it took, and you nearly crested the wave. In turn he let out a groan and plunged all the way inside you, filling you with his synthetic seed. It was too much and you cried out in pure ecstasy, hit with fireworks of color in your mind. The thick of his cock still stuck inside, you could feel it twitching out every bit of cum into you. He leaned down to kiss you, surprisingly gentle for what animalistic exchange had just occurred. Then, pulling himself out of you, he helped you sit back up.
It seemed almost funny, you scrambling to get your bra and shirt back on, him elegantly buttoning up his work uniform again and smoothing his hair back.
The lab floated back to existence again and there you both were, unusually messy but none the worse for wear. You wondered if this experiment would be considered a success.
"Kirsh.. Are we.. Did we just..?" "Collect valuable data from an extremely unique anomaly? Yes, that's exactly what we did. Y/n, I recommend we keep this experiment between ourselves, wouldn't you say?" Was this it, the root of the lesson? Is Kirsh using privacy to encourage you to keep secrets with him? He certainly taught the lesson efficiently.
"Very well, our little secret then. You have my absolute compliance." Your loyalty now belonged to him, although the programming in your brain didn't understand what that meant yet.
"I'm glad to hear it," he quipped. A smile crinkled his eye slightly and he continued on, "I will clean up here and submit our report on the findings of our new organisms. You should get washed up and return to duty."
It wasn't posed as an order, but you followed the suggestion like it was anyways. With a coy smile you prepare to exit the lab. Stopping near the door suddenly, you turn around and glance at the tube containing T Ocellus. You suppose it had observed everything that just happened, but at that point you were beyond embarrassment over the matter.
"What will we do with it?" You asked him. His eyes follow yours to the creature and he shrugs.
"Well if you're unsure about the morality of hooking it up to the computer for further reading, perhaps we can connect up something else instead and send it in there, to see what happens."
"Sir? I mean, Kirsh?" You didn't quite understand how that could be of help, and you hoped he would ignore that last sir.
"Never mind for now. You are dismissed for the day. Please have Tootles report to me. And instruct him to bring a sheep with."
You decide not to question this and leave to carry out his orders.
As you make your way farther from the science lab and what took place inside, your mind cleared slightly. You know it's not a productive thought to have, but you can't help but wonder. When would your next private data collection experiment with Kirsh happen again?
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