Repairing the circuits in one of his legs...he's always doing this—not taking proper care of his body, you dap at the sweat collecting on your brow trying to dispel the minor frustration at his inattention to his own body.
"You need to be more careful! I know you said the water wouldn't bother you, but the seaweed clearly will." You use the flathead to try and scrape some of the dried fauna from a mess of wires in his inner thigh. He jumped at that, making the strangest noise
You look up, but he was covering his discomfort by lighting up a cigarette.
"Does that hurt?"
"No!" he's almost too quick with his response "No...Doll...I'm fine...just keep doing what you need to do."
You notice the coolant pumping through a thick synthetic vein in his limb. Grinning, you decide to try and tease him. Nick couldn't see it, but the mess was almost completely cleaned now. You grab a magnet from the tool box without him noticing, usually these things were dangerous closer to his head, but it would be fine on his leg. You let it brush against the same wires that had made him jerk earlier.
He groans, bucking involuntarily at that, covering more of his face as the tobacco hangs loosely from his lips.
"Doll..."
"Do you want me to stop, detective?" You pinch the coolant vein, pressing the magnet deeper into his leg as he begins to overheat and shake.
"No, no..." He manages, "That's fine...I can take whatever you give me."
"Is that a bet?"
You rub the magnet up and down his crotch, reveling in the noises he makes as his de-gloved hand tangles into your hair. It hurts, but you like it, squealing lightly for his benefit. "That all depends," he manages to answer "on whether you want to put the cover back on my leg so I can be the bad cop."
You rush to turn the screws into place just as he greedily pulls you into his lap.
He's really warm now, the newly flowing coolant not doing much to chill his warm skin...vibrating softly from the exertion she had put him through. Dragging his rough hand down your back, he begins rubbing you through your panties. You always wore dresses around the office, made things like this...easier. He nipped against your neck as you tilted back, giving Nick easy access. His touch is mesmerizing...just hard enough to rile you up, but not so much that you would grind in urgency. He liked taking things slow. This was the worst kind of torture, and the best.
Your fingers poke into the inner workings of his neck, massaging lightly as he dips two fingers into your soft cunt.
"Always this friendly, Doll?"
"Only around men as...good at their craft as you." You purr, hooking your heels around the legs of the chair so you don't accidentally fall off. The things he did to you...it was easy to loose balance.
"Well, let's see how good I've been so far." he mutters pulling his fingers out and licking them reverently. Grunting in approval, Your sweet Valentine looks up at you with a smirk.
"Can you really taste me when you do that?"
"Do you think I smoke for my health? Nick left me rather picky taste in scotch and women, and let me tell you, I've never been more grateful for that."
You kiss him passionately, enjoying the taste of smoke, scotch, and yourself on his skilled tongue. You begin rubbing against his crotch. Finding just the right angle. It wasn't much, but then he brought his fingers back into play. He's always been such a tease and he's earning that name now until you're a whimpering sobbing mess. His mouth trails down to your breasts, sucking and biting on one as he roles the other nipple between his cold metal fingers.
"N-nick!" you plead, trying desperately to either push away from or pull him closer, frantic for some change from the precipice you're dangling from now.
"Now why would I end all the fun early? You're the good cop, sweetheart. I've always been one to..." he crooked his fingers, pumping faster, "bend the rules."
You shake apart in his arms, strumming the wires in his neck until he follows you in the closest thing to an orgasm that he can achieve. You climb off of him on shaking legs, slipping off your ruined underwear. His hand closes around your wrist before you can move any farther away. His other hand is holding a freshly lit cigarette.
"Trade you?" he asks with a smile.
"Dirty old man..." you mutter affectionately, handing him the soiled pair. He presses the cloth to his nose, taking in the scent, memorizing the delicious musk as best he can.
"What can I say? Trying to quit you would be as effective as trying to sneaking a deathclaw through a minefield.
