Cashew

Continuity Note: There is no specific stardate for this story. I began it while I was writing Unaccompanied, but I didn't finish it until Sunday, 12 May 2018, in a hotel in Wichita, KS. I suppose it could fit within chapter 14 (Transitions) of Crush III: Sostenuto, which has not yet been posted.

Data is seated at the end of the bed he shares with his partner, though 'seated' is not a precise description of his position. More, he is half-reclining. His naked thighs are flat against the duvet, his feet, wide apart, rest on the floor, and his back forms an obtuse angle with the lower half of his body. While his spinal support would allow him to hold such a position with little trouble, certain activities require that his arms provide balance. His shoulders are slightly back, his forearms flat against the bed, his fingers…

His fingers clench, pulling a wrinkle of the fabric into their grip. A non-verbal noise escapes from his throat, followed by a name. Her name. "Zoe…"

The woman who is currently on the floor between his feet pauses in her motions. "Want me to stop?" Her tone is low and husky. Warm. Flirtatious. He can discern that she wishes to continue. At the same time, he knows that if he wished for this encounter to end, she would accede to his request, just as he would for her.

"No, I do not," he tells her, or rather, he addresses the words to her hair… Her hair… The bulk of it is loose and hanging around her face and his pelvic region, forming a curtain. He can feel everything she does, but he cannot see anything but her hair. In a softer tone, he asks, "Please continue?"

"Mmhmm."

Zoe's own non-verbal noise is the only way she can respond, because right now, her mouth is full of… him.

She had told Data that he tastes like cashew when they kiss, or when she nibbles his skin - sometimes during the prelude to sexual intercourse, but other times just to be playful when they're sharing 'couch time'. She has explained that the flavor she perceives when, as she is doing now – taking him into her mouth and swirling her lithe, pink, tongue all around the head of his cock – is cashews and salt.

A linguistics subroutine interrupts his primary focus with the observation that in life before (before being in a long-term relationship, before being fully committed to a partner, before Zoe) the word 'cock' would have been reserved for male barnyard fowl, or the act of preparing a triggered weapon. Before, even internally, he would have referred to his own anatomy in clinical terms. 'Penis.' Perhaps 'phallus.' Never 'cock.' But Zoe believes the latter term is 'sexier' than the proper names. He begins a background analysis on the use of casual terminology among sexual partners.

Meanwhile, Zoe is using her hands to add stimulation to this experience. First. she uses her nails to tease his inner thighs, then she lifts his - he has not yet incorporated the term 'balls' into his personal lexicon – testicles and caresses them.

His respiration falters then returns to its regular pattern. He shifts slightly, altering the angle of his back.

Data still treats their intimacy, in general, and this act, in particular, as a gift he does not quite deserve. Every time Zoe's foreplay heads in this direction (he makes a mental note of the inadvertent internal pun), he insists that he does not expect such favors, that her performance of fellatio is not a requirement.

She responds in a similar fashion on each occasion. She laughs at him – a secret, intimate laugh that runs up and down his auditory circuitry like a musical scale. "I don't do this because you expect it, love. I don't even do it out of some hope for quid pro quo. I do it because you respond to it. You seem to enjoy it. And because I like being able to cause your reactions. It's fun."

He cannot deny that she is correct. He does derive a form of satisfaction from his partner's actions. He considers it - not a miracle, but a wonder – that any woman would kneel between his legs and kiss him there the same way she kisses his lips. But with this woman it is different. This woman - his lover, his partner, his Zoe – makes each of their intimate encounters into experiences that defy his programming.

Zoe prods his tip with the tip of her tongue, causing his eyes to go wide. Again, his vocal processors create non-verbal noise, and while his pulse is not – cannot – actually race, he perceives some subtle change in the thrum of his own internal systems – the thrum his girlfriend has claimed as her sound.

He had never known he could produce non-verbal noises like these.

Whenever they are engaged in intimacy, there is a point at which he must trigger his own climax. A reality of his android physiology is that such events are not autonomic for him, but must be controlled. When they are making love in a more conventional fashion, he selects his timing by analyzing Zoe's reactions. He can tell when she is 'close.'

Here, now, he knows that 'timing is everything.' He can tell that Zoe's jaw is tiring, even though her enthusiasm has not waned, because her licking and sucking is slowing. She is taking long pulls from him, as if he is both the straw and the liquid being coaxed from it. "Zoe, it is… I am… ready…" He knows there is etiquette involved in 'giving head,' that some women have a distaste for 'swallowing' (though his partner has never expressed such) and he believes it is 'good manners' to warn her before triggering his release.

Data feels her fingers dig into his thighs as his release floods her mouth. There is a pause, and then he feels her sit back, resting her buttocks on her folded legs. "Thank you," she tells him, as if in allowing her to do this, he has given her a gift. "I enjoyed that."

He sits up and reaches for her. He leans close to stroke her hair, and assure her, "I derived pleasure from your actions, as well." His amber eyes find her brown ones and he is given the tacit permission he seeks. Lifting her onto his lap, he nuzzles her hair, and whispers, "Zoe… my Zoe…"

She favors him with that laugh again and moves to kiss him.

He tastes his own essence on her lips.

"Zoe," he repeats. "Dearest… I believe it is my turn now."

Her dark eyes sparkle. Her expression is a blend of desire and delight. "Well, if you insist…"

"I do."

As he lies back on the bed he pulls her with him and commits to memory the sensation of this woman's full length resting atop his body. Then he rolls to change their positions, so she is flat on the bed, her own legs drifting wide.

He slides down between them and lowers his head toward her moist center. He is certain he will 'give as good as he got,' and that she will be pleased and sated when he is finished.

Meanwhile, he engages another subroutine. This time it is a comparative analysis of his own fluids with that of the flavonoids of cashews.

[Begin analysis, y/n? Yes. Hold results for later review.]

Notes: I wrote this as a sort of outtake from UNACCOMPANIED, but I had no intention of sharing it. In fact, it was in a notebook that's been sitting untouched in my computer bag for over a year. I sent scans of the long-hand draft to a friend (I'm looking at you Selena) and she thought it deserved to be posted. So, here, have a smutty one-shot. I'm not sure it moves the story forward, but I think it lends some insight into what Data gets out of their relationship.