Pinkerton must have been an alcoholic. That was the only explanation he could come up with as to why the doctor would have made him metabolize alcohol. He could have just programmed him to act drunk after a certain amount of drinks, determined by a random number generator. But instead, he'd created an artificial liver and allowed Harkness to experience the wonderful world of hangovers. Insanity and genius really did go hand in hand.
So he must be a genius, because what he was about to do was insane. Rivet City's energetic, garrulous barber sat defiantly in front of him, arms and legs crossed and a cocky smirk on his face. He'd opted to leave his jumpsuit, pip-boy and jacket in his room today; all he wore was a plain white t-shirt, jeans, and the stench of whiskey. Or maybe the whiskey smell was coming from him? It didn't matter - it was time to win this bet.
"Not that you care about rules, but let's set them out anyway. You are to find a comfortable position and hold it silently for fifteen minutes. In that time, I get to do whatever I want - minus anything harmful to you - to try to get you to make noise or move." The Snake nodded his understanding; his face never shifted out of that damned smirk. "If I win, you cause no problems on the ship for a week. You still haven't said what you want if you win." Butch opened his mouth to say something; he knew exactly what that something would be. He pointed his finger in Butch's face and cut him off. "... Nothing illegal. And it has to be within reason. I can't afford to buy you a year's supply of booze."
Butch tilted his head and regarded the Chief with an enigmatic look; his smirk shifted slightly and became something sinister. "Yeah, I know what I want. I think I'll wait to tell ya after I win." Hark snorted at the boldness of his statement, and sat on the bed to remove his boots and socks. Since they were locked in the privacy of his room, he might as well make himself comfortable. He still wore what Lana jokingly referred to as his "relaxation togs"; black t-shirt and olive cargo pants. Even off duty, he went nowhere without his gun, taser, and handcuffs secreted away in various pockets. With miscreants like the Snake on board, he refused to relax entirely. "Is that the position you're going to hold for fifteen minutes?"
The Snake uncrossed everything and sat in an oddly proper manner, legs shoulder width apart, hands lightly resting on his upper thighs, back straight and flush with the chair's back. "Are we doin' this or what, Chief? I can't wait to see your face when you hear what I want..." And with that, the Snake fell silent, blue eyes watching barefoot Chief with a look of surprise that melted into something Hark couldn't read. Whatever it was, it made him feel... nervous? No. Uneasy? Not really. Warm? That... that was the whiskey.
He pulled out a timer from one of his pockets and set it to alert them once the allotted time had passed. "Starting... now." He set the gadget on his desk, strolled behind Butch and contemplated his first move. The obvious choice would be a little light violence, maybe a slap on his face to rile up his temper. Maybe he should spend a few moments using the psychological warfare techniques he'd been programmed with. The mere idea of doing that made him feel ill; that was a little too Zimmer-like for his tastes. He settled for gripping the back of the chair and leaning close to Butch's ear to whisper in what he hoped was an intimidating tone. "I can take my time because making you break is going to be so... very... easy." Butch shivered a little at that, and Hark couldn't help but notice the nipples that became prominent under the white shirt. What an odd thing to notice; next time he drank, he'd have to stick to beer.
Circling the chair, he put himself squarely in Butch's view. As he looked at the statue-still Snake, the most delicious idea came to him - he would tickle Butch! This plan was a guaranteed winner. He leaned forward and tickled Butch's armpits. Nothing? Ticked his belly, his knees. Removed Butch's shoes and socks to have a go at his feet. Nothing. Butch looked bored, that was it. He sighed. Maybe he would have to slap him around. But that was the sort of thing the deviant was used to. He'd use that as an absolute last resort, if time was down to five minutes. It had already been at least three minutes since they'd started though. He really needed to come up with something solid.
Humor. That would do it. He accessed his database for a suitable joke but the whiskey in his system made him blurt out the first thing he pulled up. "Two atoms are sitting in a bar. One says to the other, "I think I've lost an electron." The other asks "Are you sure?" To which the first replies, 'I'm positive!'" Now Butch looked bored and confused. Forget it; they were too drunk for humor to work.
His system strained to think of something ethical he could use to get the Snake to crack. He could... fart on him? Wait; did Pinkerton give him the ability to expel gas? He tried to remember farting, pulled up nothing. No, guess Doc didn't. Why was he thinking such juvenile things? Because he was dealing with an adult with the mind of a juvenile. That, and undoubtedly the whiskey's bad influence. How much had he had? Two shots? Had to have been more than that if he was having trouble remembering. Wow, he was a lightweight. Wow, he was wasting a lot of time thinking useless thoughts.
Maybe he could borrow some makeup from Lana and give Butch a makeover. He chuckled at the thought. He could already hear the litany of swearing that would result from such an amusing scenario. But it would take too long to get the makeup, so he had to abandon that plan. Perhaps dumping a bucket of ice water on him would do it! No, also too time consuming. He glanced over Butch's shoulder at the timer's display. Shit, six minutes had passed! Nine minutes left! So, he got right up in Butch's face and screamed as loud as he could. Fear! That works on everyone! Except... it didn't work on Butch.
He heard running and a loud knock at the door. "Chief! You ok?" Shit, he should have thought about nearby patrols. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just uh... practicing singing." A few seconds of confused silence followed his statement; Butch looked as if he were holding back a laughing fit. "Ok sir... bye..." Fading footsteps, and through all this the cocky shit still didn't move. A quick glance at the timer told him he was down to seven minutes. He stared at Butch's beautiful, smooth skin. With all the fights he'd been in just since he'd come to Rivet City, he had surprisingly few scars. The kid was lucky to heal so well. His own torso was marked with numerous surgery scars and bullet holes. Not that it mattered; he didn't expect anyone to see him naked. Nobody flirted with him; Lana told him he had the reputation of a workaholic, and he needed to relax more to "pick up the chicks". The fallout of that conversation was what got him into this mess in the first place. Except the only person he'd managed to pick up was Butch. Wait - he didn't pick him up. This was just a friendly bet.
Butch's face called to his fingers; the skin's siren song made him long to touch, but not with violence. When his fingers brushed lightly along Butch's jaw, he marveled at the power whiskey had over him. This... he had never expected to ever be in this situation. He felt that odd warmth again. Shouldn't his buzz be wearing off by now? Six minutes left. Then, his database alerted him to an idea that had a probability of success of 91%. He eagerly scanned the file. What? He had to have pulled it up incorrectly. A second and third scan verified that this was indeed what his system wanted him to do. Was his OS deteriorating? It had to be the damned whiskey! If only he had better debate programming, he'd suggest to the Council that whiskey be banned from the boat.
Five minutes left. Butch's eyes were watching him warily, and for good reason. He'd been frozen in place for two minutes, gently touching that lovely face and staring off into space. He dropped his gaze to meet Butch's. The silence - and the warmth - were beginning to be unsettling at this point. He sighed and resolved to follow his system's suggestions. He'd have to see Pinkerton to have his disturbing competitive streak removed. It would just get him into trouble... He tried not to think about the potential aftermath of his actions over the next... four minutes. Pressure urged him into action; he dropped his hand from Butch's jaw to retrieve the switchblade he knew he'd find in the statue's pocket.
"I'm not comfortable attacking you when you've done nothing to deserve it. You're not ticklish, not easily frightened, and I'm not good at amusing people. Intentionally. I'm just about out of ideas to win this bet." He popped the switchblade open and appraised Butch's firm chest, hidden under that flimsy white cotton. That offensive layer would just have to go. "Or... am I? You never walk around with your shirt off, DeLoria. I'd like to see what all that fighting has done to your chest."
A look of alarm burned in Butch's eyes but he didn't betray his stillness as Hark slid his left hand under the white shirt, lifting it away just enough so he could slice Butch's "toothpick" through the thin fabric. It cut through as if the fabric were made of air; DeLoria must sharpen his weapon of choice daily. A couple quick slices through the sleeves and Butch sat bare from the waist up. A slight flush colored his chest and cheeks as Hark did his most seductive appraisal of the flesh before him. Why was this man so beautiful to him? Wasn't he only programmed to desire women? Butch was definitely no woman... his pectorals were clearly defined; he had a sinfully perfect washboard stomach. And those nipples... he wanted to clamp his teeth lightly on them, and suck them. So that's just what he did. His mouth closed over Butch's right nipple, and he dragged his teeth ever so gently over it. Licked it... Repeat with the left... Mmm, they tasted sweet. He wondered what the rest of him tasted like. Three minutes to find out. Fuck being slow and seductive.
He noted with a sense of pride that Butch's hands were gripping his thighs so hard that his knuckles were now white. Kneeling before the soon-to-be loser of their bet, he gently trailed the tip of the blade over the bulge in Butch's crotch. Oh, the panic the poor man must be feeling to have something so sharp next to something he prized so highly. "Your chest is very nice... let's see what the rest of you looks like." With an evil grin, he used the blade to carefully rip through the worn denim that separated Harkness from his prize. Several long slices, all carefully avoiding his hands, allowed him to remove the tattered jeans from those muscular legs. Now it was just one tiny pair of underwear that felt the wrath of Butch's toothpick. He'd have to thank the man later for keeping the blade so... useful.
Ah, glorious. Butch DeLoria sat naked, blushing, before him. The snake of The Snake jutted proudly up from a thatch of thick, black pubic hair. Swooping down, he swallowed it tip to root with his eager mouth. One of many advantages of being an android? No gag reflex. He sucked as hard as he could, and took note of the violent shivering in Butch's frame. The timer hadn't gone off yet; there couldn't be much time left. He popped his mouth off the large, thick cock in front of him and quickly sucked his finger before moving it behind Butch, sliding it down through the crack of his undoubtedly perfect ass. Down... this was tricky, since Butch was seated... there. He cast an apologetic look at Butch only to see that the blue eyes were no longer available to him; they had slammed shut due to the force of his self control. That lucky finger popped in, dove deep, found the gland his system told him he was looking for. Butch was sweating now, shuddering, beet red and breathing heavily. But he stayed in position, and was still silent. Breathing was allowed, of course.
Harkness felt a Butch-like smirk grace his features just before he committed his pièce de résistance. It was a devastating pincer attack; he forcefully massaged Butch's prostate while deep throating his cock. Being an android also meant he could suck better than a vacuum. Anxious ears listened for the sound that would determine the winner while he sucked the flesh in his mouth as if his life depended on it. He tasted something salty, most likely preseminal fluid. Intense warmth consumed him now... his free hand found the toothpick that lay discarded on the floor and he used it to render his own clothing to shreds (difficult but not impossible with one hand... androids are so amazing). He was grateful for the slight reduction in heat, but that gratitude was shattered when he heard the timer go off.
Nothing changed, to his surprise. What did he expect? Butch to jump up and declare his victory? What was the mysterious prize this demented resident of Rivet City wanted? While his system would have loved to ponder the answers to those questions, any irrational thoughts were rapidly destroyed under the force of his own intense arousal. The logical part of him smugly noted that he had "put the moves" on DeLoria in Belle's bar earlier. How could he not have wanted this greaser god that was currently writhing under the force of his ministrations? And while he would gladly drink gallons of his Snake's sexual fluids, he needed more, had a desperate thirst for more. He temporarily denied his system access and disengaged from his pincer attack to sweep Butch's lithe body into his arms. Two swift strides brought them to the bed. Flames danced under his skin; he lay Butch down and lifted his legs, positioning himself against that beautiful pink hole that seemed so eager to be breached. Butch moved in earnest now, hands clenching the bed sheets, head thrown back, back arched. Determined to be a gracious loser, he leaned close to the ear of his lover.
"You won the bet. Scream for me..."
And with that, he pushed into Butch's warm, tight hole. Waves of pleasure threatened to desynchronize his processor, but something beyond his comprehension kept his hips pistoning into heaven. Butch began moaning, keening, fingers digging into Harkness' flesh... long, tough legs wrapped around him... Oh, the sounds he pulled from Butch's throat ruined him to anyone other than the man currently impaled upon his phallus. He was racing to orgasm but refused to complete before his inamorato. Chemical formulas and algebraic equations raced through his mind while he waited for Butch's finish.
"SHIT... Hark!" was the only warning he got before Butch began screaming loud enough to cause his ears to ring. Long, white ropes of seminal fluid shot out of that beautiful reddish purple organ... he was faintly aware of the sound of bedsheets tearing under the Snake's desperate, clutching hands. And then he was lost to the blazing white light, the rush of heat, energy so intense it rendered his system powerless for an indeterminate amount of time. Their shouts blended together in the stale air of the tiny room he called home.
When he came to, he was surprised that the overeager patrol from earlier hadn't come to investigate all the noise. He and Butch were tied in a sort of knot on the torn, soiled sheets of his tiny bed. Butch was asleep, head cradled against his shoulder. This had to be heaven. Access was reinstated to his logic systems and they helpfully greeted him with the knowledge that the symptoms he had experienced since meeting this one particular person - especially considering the last 24 hours - meant that he had achieved "love". How had he come to this point? On the surface, what had just happened looked like it was only sex. But the bet had been the key. It had unlocked truth that had been lurking in the back of his mind. He was drawn to Butch like metal to a magnet. Whether or not this was a bad thing had yet to be determined. He willed his lover to wake, but refused to actually disturb him.
During the hours that passed, he was content to take in the odor of their combined ejaculation, and bask in the warmth of his beloved. His system notified him of his upcoming work shift, but he didn't care. This post-coital embrace, it was the greatest thing he'd experienced in his existence. Even if Butch rejected him upon waking, he would have this memory to soothe him for the rest of eternity.
Finally, sleepy blue peeked through the slits of heavy lids. Harkness waited for the object of his desire to boot up to his usual level; he didn't have to wait long. Butch yawned, stretched, and then planted his hands on either side of Hark's head. He slithered close to his Chief's face and purred his love softly against Harks' mouth. Their locked gaze was warm, understanding. They would have to have some discussions in the future, but Hark's future was securely held in his arms.
"Chief. Did you wanna know what I wanted when I won?"
He nodded. Ahh, his muscles were so relaxed. This felt wonderful... he'd have engage Butch in sexual relations much more frequently.
"It's fucked up... but I wanted us to fuck. How did you know? It's like you read my mind or somethin'."
Hark's response was a kiss so deep and long that they both forgot what they had been discussing. And he forgot his shift entirely, but he was fairly certain Lana wouldn't mind. She was the one who was always encouraging him to "hook up", after all.
When Butch screamed a second time, Harkness made a mental note to have the security patrols give his room a wide berth from now on.