In His Room
RK900's true descent into deviancy actually started with a perfectly logical course of action. This action involved a piece of evidence in a rather eccentric homicide; a gay couple's drunk fishing trip gone horrible wrong with one party admitting to cheating and the other retaliating with a harpoon, splattering blood all over their huge inflatable unicorn boat.
The unicorn's dimensions were such that it was not just a piece of evidence, but an entire crime scene, and there was absolutely no suitable place for it in the station, as it couldn't be deflated until the investigation was over.
"I guess it's a vehicle, so it should go to the garage," Officer Chris Miller suggested.
"I do not think it's classified as such," RK800 – Connor – frowned. "It shouldn't have been so far on the lake to begin with. And besides, the material's too fragile to be put among much sturdier objects. It could be easily damaged."
"So where do we stuff it?" Officer Miller asked, but Connor stayed silent. Everyone else had left by this point, leaving this "ludicrous gay bullshit," as Detective Reed called it, to the care of the three most junior members of the department – Officer Miller, Connor and RK900, in that exact order.
Connor gave RK900 a searching look.
Technically, RK900 was designed to be better than Connor in every aspect CyberLife could think of. In reality, he had found out things were not as simple; he didn't know how much of it was programming, and how much that elusive, unnamable something that made androids their own persons, but Connor was much better at dealing with humans, especially in getting them to like him. Even Detective Reed now treated Connor with grudging respect, even though he often hid it with mockery. That, however, couldn't be said about the way he treated his new unwanted android partner, which consisted of either ignorance or outright hostility, or an impossible combination of both, no matter how hard RK900 tried to reach to the human detective.
Human relations aside, the matter of dealing with an oversized piece of evidence was a question of sheer analytical power, an area in which RK900 could – and wanted to – prove himself superior.
The analyses he ran in the few seconds Connor's questioning look lasted awarded RK900 with one simple yet elegant solution.
"It can stay in my room," he suggested levelly.
If Detective Reed were present, he'd probably make some highly offensive remark about RK900's suggestion, but as he was not, it was met with no objections.
Officer Miller simply furrowed his brows in puzzlement and asked him what the hell RK900 meant by 'his room'.
"I have been assigned an unused room here at the station where I can keep my charger and personal effects," RK900 explained.
Officer Miller gave him a slightly doubtful look, but didn't say anything, and Connor nodded in understanding. He obviously realized that a recently awakened android like RK900 had very little in the way of possessions.
At present, some two weeks later, RK900 found himself replaying that conversation. He didn't, in fact, had any personal effects whatsoever at the time of his suggestion. Now, however…
"We don't need the damn thing anymore," Lieutenant Anderson had told him a few days ago. "We've got photographic proof, blood samples and a full confession."
Afterwards, RK900 was going to deflate the unicorn. Instead, he found himself contemplating the creature that had kept him company for the last few days, roaming his eyes over its white flanks, rainbow-colored mane, tail and wings, big blue eyes and artless smile.
As there was no need for it, logic dictated he should follow the procedure and dispose of the now useless evidence. Becoming deviant, however, meant that he sometimes wanted to do things that were highly illogical. Like running his fingers through Detective Reed's hair even when he was being given yet another verbal lashing by the irascible man, which he by now had learned to reciprocate.
He didn't want to dispose of the inflatable unicorn, so he didn't. It was not like anyone ever came to his room anyway.
…
"Hey," Gavin Reed said to Connor, surprising the latter with the unusual civility of his address, which for once didn't include the word 'plastic' combined with an expletive. It was obvious to Connor that Reed wanted something.
"What can I do for you, Detective?" he asked pleasantly, plastering a big fake smile on his face, one he was sure would annoy the hell out of Reed.
As expected, Reed's lips twitched in irritation.
"Do you know where RK900's gone to?" he spat out.
Connor shook his head.
"What do you need him for?" he asked, genuinely curious. He would have expected Reed to be elated RK900 was nowhere to be seen, not for him to come searching for the android.
"I need to know where the fuck he put the Bloomberg case file, and he wouldn't pick up his-" Gavin was going to say 'phone' before he realized that androids didn't need that, having this function integrated. Creepy machines.
"Today's his scheduled day off, so he might've shut down the telephonic function to be able to relax. How come you don't know it is RK900's day off?"
"Because I ignore most of the shit that asshole says to me? What the hell do you plastic dildos need days off for, anyway?" Gavin asked in turn, not bothering to keep the disdain from his voice.
"Congratulations, you managed to hold an android slur-free conversation for the entirety of twenty eight seconds. That might be your personal best," was Connor's dry reply. The android almost turned to move away from Reed, but then thought better of it. After all, the Bloomberg case involved an android homicide and he shouldn't let Reed's pettiness jeopardize the investigation.
"If you really wish to find RK900, it shouldn't be a problem. He's probably in his room," he informed Gavin.
Both of Gavin's eyebrows shot up.
"In his what?"
"It's room A382 here at the station," Connor told him before excusing himself, not bothering to explain further.
…
People with only a fleeting knowledge of Gavin Reed's personality – and let's be honest, that made most of them, as hardly anyone ever felt the need to deepen that knowledge in any way – would put him down as someone who moved with firm, resonating strides, an angry bull stomping head-on towards his target.
In reality, his movements were much more feline; in his line of job, moving like an angry bull would've gotten him killed a long time ago. That's why he was now engaging in a lethally silent panther prowl even when technically there was no need for it. He was just going to visit his partner's room.
Yet, the area where it was located practically screamed caution. For one thing, it was underground, with unnaturally white light flooding the empty grey corridors. For another, this floor held mostly detention cells which were currently not in use, and the area was enveloped by an eerie silence.
By the time he reached room A382, Gavin almost felt sorry for the plastic sucker, because no one could possible enjoy living in such a place. At least the room in question was not originally a detention cell but probably a storage of some kind, as there was no observation window on the door.
Gavin was just about to knock on the said door when he heard a voice from the inside, perfectly audible in the complete silence of the corridor.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, Kevin," he heard RK900 saying.
Who the fuck is he talking to? Gavin mused. He didn't know any Kevins, but he imagined it could be another police droid. After all, there was a handful of them at the station besides RK900 and Connor, receptionists and such who chose to keep working here after the revolution, but Gavin didn't know any of them by name.
"I help him with his cases, but I'm careful not to bruise his fragile ego. I also make him coffee every day," RK900 enumerated, and fuck him, he was talking about Gavin, in a way that made it sound like he was seeking couples counseling.
Gavin's lips curled in wry amusement as herecalled that a few of his previous partners contemplated the idea, and two of them even tried to go through with it. Needless to say, it was a disaster both times.
Shit, where did the thought of him and RK900 as a couple even come from?It wasn't like the two of them were that sort of partners. He was no sick plasticfucker like Anderson.
"I also try to discourage him from some of his self-destructive habits, to show I care about his wellbeing, but he doesn't seem to appreciate it," RK900 continued his laments.
Gavin resisted the urge to snort. Damn right he didn't appreciate when that self-righteous prick ripped his cigarette from his lips in the middle of a particularly satisfying smoke.
"Maybe I'm being too nice to him, Kevin," RK900 concluded. "Perhaps I should consider a more assertive approach, don't you agree?"
Gavin was so done with this shit. He barged into RK900's room, not waiting for the mysterious Kevin's answer.
"The fuck you're doing talking shit 'bout me", was what he planned to say upon his arrival, but didn't make it past the first two words.
Because there was no other android in the room. Or human, for that matter. There was just that giant unicorn thing from last week's case. As it was still inflated, it managed to fill most of the small room. RK900 was lying on it, assuming a classic psychiatrist's patient's pose, with his hands resting upon his wide chest.
At least there's no blood on the thing anymore, ran through Gavin's head, and this thought was followed by a disturbing image of RK900 licking it away.
"If you don't knock when entering someone's home, it might be considered trespassing," RK900 informed him calmly. He climbed off the unicorn in one swift movement and moved to loom over Gavin, while the unicorn loomed over them both with a slightly retarded smile on its stupid face.
Gavin's eyes kept moving back and forth between the unicorn and RK900, thinking that the android would probably look exactly as stupid if he smiled, which he had actually never seen him do. He had to admit he didn't give the chunk of plastic any reason to.
"Keeping evidence as your property's also not exactly textbook," he said aloud.
"I couldn't let Kevin be destroyed," RK900 told him with the greatest amount of emotion Gavin had ever heard from the android.
"You wouldn't name yourself, but you named this fucking unicorn?" Gavin asked incredulously.
"I didn't name myself because I already have a perfectly serviceable name," RK900 replied, his tone back to its usual aloofness.
"Yeah, one you share with thousands of your clones. What if they decide to call themselves 'just RK900?' too, you didn't think of that?" Gavin kept pestering him.
"As your statement was incorrect, this question is moot," RK900 told him haughtily.
"Huh?"
"I'm the only specimen of my model," RK900 explained. "CyberLife had plans for serial production, but those were foiled by the android revolution."
"Ain't you a fucking special snowflake," Gavin retorted, but his words lacked their usual venom. He was actually weirdly glad that RK900 was the only one of his kind, and not only because he was relieved that Fowler couldn't sic more plastic pricks on his ass. Suddenly he realized he was having what could pass for a civil conversation with the android. That wouldn't do.
"You realize you're completely off your rocker," he said with a sneer. "Normal people talk to their family and friends, not to overgrown inflatable toys they nicked during a murder investigation."
"Like you talk to your family and friends?" RK900 retaliated, his icy grey eyes drilling holes in Gavin's face.
"What the fuck you know 'bout my life?" Gavin snarled, all traces of civility gone up in flames.
"Your mother died when you were five years old. You father was an alcoholic who used to beat both you and your sister, but more often you because you would stand up to him," RK900 said clinically, laying out Gavin's fucked-up childhood like it was a goddamn case file. "When you were twelve and tried to defend your sister from him, he hurled an empty bottle right into your face. You had eight stitches; that's how you acquired that scar on your nose. You spent twelve days at the hospital. When you weren't there to protect her, your sister-"
"That's enough," Gavin growled. "Who told you that?"
"No one. I'm a detective," RK900 deadpanned.
"Well I'm not a fucking case for you to solve!" Gavin yelled and took a swing at RK900's jaw. And hissed in pain. It was like hitting solid concrete. The bastard didn't even flinch.
A saner person would stop right away. Gavin Reed, however, completely disregarded the pain in his bruised and bleeding knuckles and charged again. This time, RK900 was having none of it. He caught Gavin's fist midair and, in a movement that was almost too fast to register, got the twisting and kicking Gavin in a headlock, his simulated breath hot against Gavin's ear.
"Someone should've burned CyberLife to the ground while you were still in it, fucker," Gavin managed to choke out.
Next thing he knew, he was lying stomach flat against the unicorn. Well, at least he couldn't see its demented face from here, he thought inappropriately as he moved to escape, only to be pinned down, an inhumanly strong hand catching both of his wrists behind his back. No matter how hard he thrashed, the grip didn't relent an inch.
He was in over his head this time. He was like one of those crazy little dogs that wouldn't stop yapping at Dobermans. The thought of something stronger, faster, deadlier than him just made him want to keep provoking it until it snapped. And now his wish came true.
Warm breath was ghosting over his ear again.
"I've tried so hard to maintain a working professional relationship with you, Detective Reed. But for some reason, you keep trying to make that difficult," a cold voice told him.
Gavin shuddered. He was hard, he realized to his horror. An android had him completely immobilized against a giant inflatable unicorn and his dick was fucking loving it.
Being what he was, RK900 of course noticed.
"That's an interesting development," he observed, still in that icy voice, sharply contrasting with the warmth of his breath on the side of Gavin's face.
"Get off me," Gavin gritted out through his teeth, wishing he could dig himself a hole and die in there.
"Getting off. Now that's an idea," RK900 said to that. Did that prick just make a joke? Gavin thought desperately, but his attention was soon drawn to the android's other hand, which started to yank his pants down.
Oh shit.
In mere seconds he was lying there with his ass completely exposed and his naked cock eagerly straining against the inflatable material.
A cool hand traced the curve of his buttocks. He couldn't help but shiver under the touch. The hand that held his wrists suddenly disappeared, but Gavin didn't move his hands anyway because it appeared again to wrap itself around his cock.
His breath hitched in his throat.
The hand, which impossibly enough seemed to be self-lubricating, moved up and down his cock in perfect slick motions. He let out a filthy moan, feeling vaguely disgusted at himself but mostly past caring now.
Then a slick cold digit slid inside his hole. He felt himself buckle against RK900's other hand while particularly rutting against the inflated surface, doing everything in his power to increase the delicious friction, because he was already so close-
The hand on his cock immediately stilled.
"Hey!" Gavin complained. "What-"
"I will not reward bad behavior," RK900 said, sounding eerily like one of Gavin's female elementary school teachers. "I will let you have an orgasm by my hands only if you promise you'll stop actively antagonizing me."
"If I do that, what fun will I have left in my life?" Gavin asked with a breathless chuckle.
"What about this," RK900 actually growled before shoving another one of his long fingers in Gavin's ass.
Gavin cried out, but the hand on his cock stayed completely motionless.
"Okay," he said hoarsely. "Okay. I'll try." That seemed to do the trick. The hand on his cock went back to its rhythmical motions, while the fingers in his ass started to scissor him. It didn't take long until he spilled his come all over RK900's hand.
Maybe being a plasticfucker isn't that bad after all, Gavin thought dazedly.
…
He was just coming back to full awareness when he heard RK900's voice, now a few feet away, saying in an unexpectedly grim tone:
"We broke Kevin."
"What?" Gavin asked in confusion, turning to his back. During the movement, he heard something like a loud hissing sound right next to his head. He looked in that direction and immediately saw a rip in the inflatable, through which air was escaping rapidly.
The unicorn apparently survived a harpooned murderer, but not the two of them getting it on. Gavin couldn't help but feel a little proud.
He stood up and the hissing became less prominent, but the unicorn still kept deflating. RK900 was staring at it dejectedly.
"You can buy a repair kit," Gavin told him and the android's expression lightened a bit. "But when you need company, you don't have to talk to that thing. You can talk to me," he heard himself saying and winced at his own incredible post-coital sappiness.
However, the fact that RK900's lips curled tentatively upwards at this – and it didn't look anything like the inflatable unicorn's smile – made it somehow worth it.
7