The male sexbot has bright blue eyes and smooth skin, and John finds it difficult to pull away. "Not interested," he mutters, brushing the wandering hand aside with a pained determination. "Sorry," he feels obliged to add, then immediately feels stupid afterwards. The bang bot couldn't care less about being rejected by John; chances are that he's already spotted his next target.
He can't help but turn and watch the bot sashay towards an unassuming man perched a little ways down the bar, leather-clad hips swinging in a way that was still distinctively masculine despite the ridiculous strut. He suddenly wonders if Dorian can walk like that, and he aggressively downs another shot before the thought can completely manifest.
Of course Dorian can walk like that, his mind treacherously belches out anyway. Dorian can do anything. All John has to do is ask, maybe casually mention seeing the bot in the bar that night with the sky-blue eyes and familiar quick grin...
He takes another shot, relishing the mind-numbing burn that fills his brain with pleasant static for all of twenty seconds.
He's an asshole, he thinks gloomily afterwards, squinting at the empty glass in his hand sadly. The bartender's calling the last round now, and he slides a credit chip along the counter before pushing away from the bar, only swaying slightly. He's ridiculously proud of himself for managing to get to the door beside himself, so proud that he doesn't realize the door scanners are beeping at him before the bouncer catches him by the shoulder.
"You're a mite over the levels there, buddy," the man informs him sympathetically, jerking his head at the display panel in the doorframe. John squints at his blood alcohol concentration, berating himself morosely.
"You got someone to pick you up?"
No, he doesn't. Except Maldonaldo….but he doesn't think that's quite what she meant when she slid over her comm number to him and told him very seriously that if he ever needed help, she was there. Not this kind of help, he surmises.
Dorian would come, he knows. But Dorian's off with Rudy now, maybe even at another bar, the android probably watching the other man making a right fool of himself around those sexbots. Maybe Dorian's found a nice bot himself- could they even get it on? John didn't know, he'd have to ask next time…..maybe Dorian might even let him-
"Sir?"
John jerks himself out of his drunken daze and pulls his arm away roughly. "Gotta make a call," he mutters, pulling his comm out of his pocket and dialing before he can talk himself out of it.
To his surprise, Dorian answers on the first ring, sounding almost….harried, for whatever reason. "John?"
"Hey." He suddenly feels awkward, standing there with his back to the bouncer and the beginning waves of a truly terrible headache building up behind his eyes. "Are you…" He can hear the faintest strains of tinkling voices in his ear. "Who's that?"
"Rudy." Dorian lowers his voice into a carefully moderated whisper. "He's got some...friends…over."
"Oh. Oh, then, should I-" John pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes woozily. "Never mind."
"Are you all right, John?"
No. No, he really isn't.
"I'm fine." He hangs up before Dorian can respond and briefly debates the merits of passing out. Not worth it, he decides, staring down at the suspiciously stained floorboards.
"Sir, I can call an escort for you," the bouncer's saying politely, and John's shaking his head firmly before he can regret the sudden motion. His head spins, and he grits his teeth and tries to say clearly, "I'm fine." The last thing he needs is for another cop, and God forbid it be Paul, of all people, to show up and see him like this.
The bouncer looks about ready to snap him in half and call the escort anyway, so John scans desperately over the heads of the crowd for some form of escape. His eyes light upon the sexbot from before, leaning against the bar next to the man from before with its elbows on the counter and its long legs crossed lazily at the ankles. As John watches, the bot tilts his head back, exposing the line of his throat, and laughs, a perfectly executed sound that somehow manages to sound more genuine than the real thing.
John's chest suddenly feels tight, his stomach fluttering with the oncoming sensation of a very bad decision. Then the bot looks at him, a straight, piercing stare that John, in his inebriated state, can't help but feel is intentional.
"I'm with my bot," he hears himself saying, gesturing vaguely towards the sexbot. "We'll be right out of here in a sec."
The bouncer looks over skeptically in the direction of John's wavering finger. The sexbot's now trailing his fingers through his target's thinning hair, smiling and nodding at whatever flustered line the man is undoubtedly flubbing. "You always keep that loose a leash on your bots?"
"That's my own damn business," John snaps, giving the man the best glare he can muster under these circumstances. "You gonna let us out or what?"
The bouncer takes a step back, gives him an considering once-over. He doesn't look like an idiot, this one, and John can tell that he's not fooled one bit. But, not being an idiot, the guy clearly understands just how much more trouble causing a scene would be than just letting the drunk guy stagger off into the night, and he nods. "All right. Go get your bot."
Ah. Somehow, John's fuzzy mind hasn't quite managed to make it that far yet. He jerks a brusque nod, then makes his way across the crowded floor to the bar. The bartender gives him a wary glance, but he ignores him and stops in front of the sexbot instead.
"Hey."
The bot looks at him, and John's struck again by those damn eyes, that full mouth that quirks just right at the corners.
"Hey, man," the bot says casually, and John feels something clench hard and painfully inside of him. "You looking to play?"
"Yeah," John says, ignoring the man clearing his throat pointedly beside him. "Yeah, I am."
...
"You got a name?" John gasps, as the sexbot mouths at the side of his neck teasingly. He's leaving behind a warm wet trail as he works his way along John's jaw- one of the higher end models, John thinks distractedly as the bot nips at his chin.
"You can call me whatever you want," the sexbot informs him helpfully, blue eyes hooded.
Dorian.
John's fingers tighten on the bot's arms, dimpling the synthetic muscle. "No," he says hoarsely. It's not him.
The sexbot cocks his head at him, as if faintly curious by John's response, then the corner of his mouth lifts in an amused smile. "I'm Adam."
"Adam," John repeats dazedly, his breath hitching in surprise when the bot- Adam- leans forward and presses him back against the hotel wall, pinning his wrists to the smooth surface behind him with ease.
"How do you want me?" Adam murmurs into the hollow beneath John's ear, his breath cooler than a human's across John's skin.
"Like this," John groans, feeling a thrill of pleasure despite how thoroughly smashed he is, and he presses his body against the bot's. "However you want it, just- now."
"All right," Adam agrees amicably, his picture-perfect smile still dancing as he gives his hips a slow, deliberate roll. John bites back a seriously embarrassing noise, his chest heaving beneath the bot's, and his hands twitch involuntarily against the wall, wanting to tear at those ridiculous clothes.
"Just make me forget," he thinks he says then, but it all goes a little fuzzy from there afterwards.