When Gavin gets home he takes a quick shower before getting dressed. Nothing too fancy, black jeans and a dark grey shirt, but decent enough to say he wants to catch some eyes. He makes himself some sandwiches, too lazy to cook something, and then he's out the door and on his way to his favourite bar to find someone to hook up with.

He doesn't want to stay at home, alone with his traitorous thoughts and his even more traitorous body.

It's surely because it has been a while since he fucked someone. There's nothing wrong with him aside from the fact that he really needs to get laid. Everything was alright, he still fucking hated the talking tin cans and the tall and menacing yet stoic one especially.

An imagine of RK900 touching him comes to his mind unbidden and unwanted, its hands trailing down his sides, leaving trembles and goosebumps in their wake.

And Gavin doesn't shiver at that and his heart doesn't speed up as his imagination latches onto the idea and he sure as hell doesn't feel a pang of want and arousal.

All he feels is sick and disgusted at the thought and he's perfectly alright because that's how he fucking well should feel.

A surge of panic claws at Gavin because fuck and he curses out loud, startling a passerby and earning a glare.

Why is this his life?

Loud music and voices greet him when he opens the door to the bar and Gavin relaxes slightly, looking forward to the distraction.

He makes a beeline for the counter to order a beer and eyes the people, trying to gauge if anyone appears like they're looking to let off some steam and not waste much time on talking first. It's a shame no one is wearing a sign saying looking for a quick fuck , because that would honestly make Gavin's life so much easier.

But, as apparently always as of this week, the universe hates him, and most customers are couples or groups of friends and not even a handful of people appear to be here on their own. Gavin takes his beer and goes to an empty booth, trying not to scowl and drive away any potential one-night stands.

He's on his fourth or fifth beer, mood improving with growing intoxication but hopes of getting some all but evaporated when he catches a man staring at him.

The guy is tall and well build, brown hair and an angular face and it's a fucking horrible idea. It's horrible he's even entertaining the idea at all.

Gavin's drunk ass disagrees though and twenty minutes later he finds himself pressed against the dirty wall of a toilet stall, sharing a frantic and sloppy kiss with what's-his-name and the guys big hand shoved down the back of his trousers.

It's messy and rough, the guy obviously just as drunk as Gavin and they just grind against each other for a while as Gavin pants into the kiss.

He claws at the guys back and groans as his hand starts to knead his ass, a finger dipping between the cheeks to press against his hole rough and dry.

Yeah, that's not happening, not in a dirty bathroom stall and not without fucking lube, shit he should have brought lube.

The guy obviously comes to the same conclusion, though he keeps teasing the rim and Gavin's hips buck forward.

"Fucking hell," he pants against the guy's neck and tries his best to suck a hickey into it between gasping breaths.

Fumbling impatiently, the guy manages to open Gavin trousers and the other hand stops their playing with Gavin's ass to pull the trousers down until the hung from his thighs, erection straining against his briefs and Gavin groans and leaves a wet kiss on the guy's neck.

He hastens to do the same with the other's trousers and then Gavin remembers that he actually has some condoms to prevent a mess. It takes a few minutes, but then they're both finally wearing a rubber and the guy takes both their hard dicks in his hand and Gavin groans, back bend and hips jerking forward, as they slide against each other.

Gavin's head hits the wall with a thud and the guy leans forward, latching onto his neck, kissing up until he breathes hot and heavy against his ear and teeth graze lightly over his outer ear and Gavin moans at the sensation.

I did not expect you to show such extreme reactions to a simple touch, detective Reed

Fuck, he thinks as he comes fast and hard to the image of a cold gaze boring into him.

He spends the weekend in sullen misery and with a bad temper. Even more on edge than during the week and twitching for something to do or something to happen that would distract him. Unfortunately, life wasn't that kind and he couldn't even hope for some emergency that would call him back to work.

Part of him holds the irrational fear that the freakish thing would somehow be able to tell at a glance that Gavin had come while thinking about its ugly face. The other part of him is busy chanting something along the lines of fuckingfuckfuckIamsofuckedsaygoodbyetolifefuckinghellfuck.

He tries to rationalise it. It wasn't his fucking fault. The guy had some similarities to the plastic prick and he had been stressed by the thing all week. It was perfectly fucking understandable that his brain was confused in the heat of the moment and reasonable that it recalled the fake face and voice of the thing.

It doesn't help.

Neither does the fact that he wakes with a hardon that begs to be touched, so Gavin does, thoughts still slow and body pliant from sleep. The pace is lazy and relaxed because he is in no hurry to finish. Wants to savour the feeling because there is no real time to do it like this when he has to get to work and than his brain is awake enough that it connects dots that shouldn't have any sort of connection. From there it's like one of those try not to think about this games and of course his fucking brain can't help but be stuck with the robo creep's face and voice.

Gavin is not so far gone yet not to care what his imagination comes up with as he gets himself off, so he ends the wank session with a flurry of curses and a frustrated punch to the mattress before he gets up and tries to ignore his aching and pulsing erection as he takes a shower.

Monday morning greets him with a feeling of mild panic and dread and he does his best to channel those feelings into anger instead. It doesn't quite work but whatever.

He scowls and glares at anyone he meets as he walks into the police department, scowls harder as he sees RK900 sitting at its desk and hates himself when he notices how his gaze lingers on the plastic prick's hands.

He heads to the breakroom to get a coffee, both to hide the shamed flush that's crawling up his neck as well as to stall for time before he has to sit down opposite the thing.

The coffee machine takes forever to start because for some godforsaken reason nobody has felt the need to get a coffee on a monday fucking morning yet. He drums against the counter impatiently and wonders if he should just go out and get one from a shop and maybe get runover by a truck on the way.

There are footsteps and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, hoping it's not the fucking 6ft nightmare come to haunt him even though he knows better.

But the thing doesn't talk to him and it has Gavin on edge. The footsteps come closer though and he tenses, stomach turning with nerves and definitely not twisting in anticipation.

The cupboard behind him is opened and then a big and graceful hand comes into view that Gavin can't help but stare at and then his coffee mug is snatched away.

Gavin opens his mouth and then closes it again because he's not playing this fucking game again although there is no hot coffee inside yet that could burn his hand. There are enough mugs here that no one will mind if he borrows one.

Hands clenching and unclenching once, twice, Gavin decides to just ignore it because everytime he followed his gut instinct to not fucking take this shit, it ended badly for him. He feels like a dog that rolled over in surrender and fucking hates it.

He can hear it using the hot water dispenser and the coffee maker finally decides to come to life when RK900 speaks.

"Detective Reed," he can hear it coming closer, but he doesn't turn from the counter he's facing. Couldn't really even of he wanted because he feels frozen to the spot, like some sort of dumb animal that just pretends to be dead when it sees the predator approach.

It stops behind him, so fucking close his body thrums with the need to turn around and at the same time to not move because he knows it's gonna end with him sliding even deeper into the shit he's in.

"Detective Reed," it repeats, not sounding annoyed in the slightest, not sounding much of anything really, more like it's just saying his name for the sake of saying it and the hair at the nape of his neck stands up. He claws at the countertop because his name out the things mouth is not supposed to sound good.

"Detective -," it starts again, voice deep and close gavin can't fucking take it anymore.

"Fucking what?!" He whirls around and moves a bit to the side so he doesn't feel caged by the tall prick and does his best to glare at the thing and not let his gaze linger on it's hand holding out a steaming mug of tea or it's face or eyes.

It would be nice if he could purge the whole fucking image of the android from his mind.

Instead, he glares at its chest, at the blue rectangle and waits for the thing to place the mug on the counter.

"Detective Reed," it fucking repeats again and he can't help himself, he lifts his gaze to look at the tin can. Glares harder as it's grey eyes lock onto his.

"Are you a fucking broken record or what?"

The thing just stares at him for a moment, gaze sweeping over his face, and Gavin can feel the flush crawling back up his neck again, heating his cheeks, as his heart starts to hammer with the worrying thought of the thing somehow knowing what he did.

"Good morning, detective Reed," RK900 says, fucking finally places the mug on the counter, and then its artificial lips stretch into a small and crooked smile and Gavin feels like someone just punched him in the chest.


Welcome back to "My life sucks", starring
Gavin, who is most certainly not in denial
some random guy, who helps progress our story and make Gavin realize that he most definietly doesn't want the robo d (not that he can get it bc well sry gotta make do with Rk's fingers Gavin)
RK900, who rly enjoys giving Gavin his midlife crisis

Hope you enjoyed it so far! 3 please do shout out all the horrible mistakes my writing is sure to contain bc my brain likes to mess shit up