Wheatley would never admit it, but in reality he had started to develop a bit of a problem. After all, it wasn't exactly easy to get the android new clothes, and Doug would always silently quirk a brow whenever he would show up with torn trousers or a mud-caked shirt. Because, Wheatley being Wheatley, he was quite accident prone. It was when he started showing up with sticky trousers and large wet spots that it started to get suspicious.
But that wasn't the problem. No, that was easily explained away (or at least Wheatley thought it was), but it was far more difficult to explain the constant stealing of computer devices with a jack-in plug. It had started with a simple pair of headphones, yes, but it wasn't long after that that all sorts of things started to go missing from the lab rat's personal stash.
When Doug suddenly lost his one and only charger, he had had enough. Whatever Wheatley was doing with them, they could be replaced. Except for his charger. That was the only thing that kept his radios and his communicators and all his various gadgets going. Of course, he had no way to know that this was exactly what Wheatley was using it for. Just for an entirely different way.
Wheatley had discovered that as amazing as it was to have another device linked into his nervous system, having an outright electrical current flowing into him from that most sensitive and marvelous port was like going from masturbation to full blown, drug-fueled intercourse. The first time he tried it, he had just wanted to borrow the thing, to try it out. He did that with most of the things he took, really. He always planned to return them, he just usually completely forgot to and quickly lost them forever.
So it was quite a pleasurable surprise for him, when he started his usual routine on his favorite chair. Plug the cord in to whatever he was going to be hooking up to, then lower his trousers down to his shins and sit down on the chair, legs spread and halfway off the edge. He twiddled with the jack in his slender, admittedly pale fingers like he always did, reaching down to press the jack against his one and only port. Not where you might think, actually, but just on the end of what on a human would be his tail bone. He liked to tease it, for some reason; it didn't do a damn thing for him, but the suspense was something he enjoyed. He slid it halfway in, so that the connection was spotty and barely there. He always did that first. But this time, that barely-there connection was absolutely mind-blowing. He was gasping and shuddering and he hadn't even plugged the damn thing in properly.
So that was what he did, and his shirt was stained and his trousers ruined and for the next three hours he was floating on an electric sea of numbness and pleasure. By the time he finally came back to his senses enough to yank the plug out his artificial muscles were sore and burning and his unmentionables were still twitching and there was drops of fluid everywhere. Needless to say, after Wheatley cleaned up he kept that new, special plug close by at all times.
He would never let this thing go, not if his life itself depended on it.