Doug looked down at the android laying unconscious on the plastic chair. He looked almost pathetically debauched like this, and if the old scientist didn't know any better he would think that Wheatley was some kind of nymphomaniac. But he knew that was not the case; the bot just didn't know the meaning of moderation, nor did he understand how to properly vent these kinds of urges. So, it was with a heavy sigh and a slumping of his shoulders that Doug got to work.
First he pulled the rag he used to wipe off mistakes in his murals out of his lab coat's pocket. He cleaned it with a small bottle of rubbing alcohol he kept handy for such occasions and bent down over Wheatley's torso, wiping the spilt seed from the android's belly. Now, Doug wasn't exactly one to do this, but he had always been rather fascinated with artificial life forms, so he. Gave the stuff a quick taste. Which immediately resulted in a grimace and a silent retch. It tasted like salty oil mixed with burnt rubber. Hardly appetizing.
He tossed the rag onto a nearby table and moved away from Wheatley for a moment to unplug the charger and return it to one of his pockets. He really did need that thing, after all. then he walked back and looked Wheatley over once again. The scientist tutted softly with his tongue, shaking his head from side to side in distaste. Not because he disapproved of Wheatley's actions, but because the android should have known to come to Doug about these urges. If he had only done that in the first place, a lot of this probably could have been avoided.
He bent down and picked the android's trousers off of the floor and folded them up. He would have to leave these here while he got Wheatley back to his latest den. Which was going to be rather difficult considering how tall and lanky the bot was. He tried lifting him up by the shoulders to get him in a sitting position, but the second he went to lift his hindquarters Wheatley just flopped back onto the chair. It was a computer chair, which meant that it could be tilted back into a sort of recliner. It helped that the restraining bolt was half broken. After about ten minutes of extremely awkward attempts, Doug finally had the bot slumped against him. Doug had the bot's arms draped over his shoulders, with Wheatley facing him so that their chests would have been touching if the android wasn't almost impossibly tall. As it was, Doug had to abandon any remaining sense of modesty and use the android's ass to hold him up.
It was in this incredibly awkward manner that the scientist dragged Wheatley all the way back to his den, whereupon he promptly plopped the bot down on his own personal cot. He wiped his brow, and left Wheatley alone to go back and get the bot's trousers. when he returned, Wheatley was still fast asleep. He didn't really know what he was going to do until Wheatley woke back up, but he eventually decided to give the unconscious android a physical inspection. It was about time he did so, anyways.
So, Doug propped Wheatley up just long enough to get his shirt off and then let him fall back down. His slightly calloused, paint-stained fingers rubbed and prodded at just about every spot of Wheatley's skin. First and foremost, he had to check for any tears in the skin, or any sub-dermal damage. Thankfully there wasn't any. At least, not on his chest. The quality of the artificial skin, though. That was something else entirely. Wheatley felt like he was an actual, living organism, despite the fact that he was not. His skin was smooth, and warm, and practically indistinguishable from human skin. Next, Doug moved up, to check on Wheatley's head. He opened the bot's eyes, still a little blown away but how remarkably alive they looked. But, if you paid close enough attention, you could see that the irises were just shutters with patterns carved into them and stained. Still, very hard to tell.
From there, Doug moved back down, checking and pushing and prodding at Wheatley's abdomen to check for any tears in the artificial muscles underneath. Any damage done to Wheatley's body would have to be manually repaired. Thankfully, once again, it seemed that no damage had been caused. From there, he rubbed and pushed at every inch of Wheatley's thighs, and shins, and calves. No damage there, either, though the bottoms of his feet were pretty dirty and rather scuffed up.
He was purposefully avoiding the one area that, in all likelihood, needed to be inspected the most. And that was Wheatley's groin. Doug wasn't exactly a modest sort of person; being trapped in a gigantic underground facility for decades would do that to you. But, still, it was kind of awkward to have to lift up the android's sac and check for tears. It was also incredibly awkward to lift the bot's prick and move it around to check that it, too, was free of any damage or tears. Things got about fifty two thousand times more strained when Wheatley chose that exact moment to wake up. The bot blinked lazily and looked down at Doug, whose face was one stricken with mortification. And then Wheatley smiled one of his trademark adorable, dorky smiles, completely innocent and unassuming. and Doug's embarrassment went away, and he went back to his inspections.
when he came upon Wheatley's port, however, he was legitimately surprised at the amount of scratches and nicks in the metal, as well as quite a few small tears in the tissue surrounding it. "Wheatley, what have you been doing to this thing? It's scuffed halfway to hell!" Wheatley took on a sheepish expression and replied, "I don't know, mate, just. Plugging things in. Seems to work out just fine." Doug's expression turned incredulous. "Plugging- Wheatley, you can't just shove any old thing in there! It's a delicate part of your body, you have." He sighed heavily and said, "You have to know what you're doing, which you obviously don't. From now on, I'll do this for you, do you understand?" Doug's expression clearly said that there was to be no discussion on the subject, and Wheatley frowned apologetically and nodded. "Alright, then." And then he perked up and grinned in that endearing way of his. "So when do we start?"
Doug just groaned. It was abundantly clear that Wheatley had next to no restraint or patience, and judging by the way the tall, lanky android was wiggling where he lay and trying and hilariously failing to entice the scientist, he was also more likely than not going to turn out to be some sort of perpetually-failing flirting machine. But, he supposed that just this once, he could give Wheatley what he wanted. After all, it was just this once, and one little handjob combined with a carefully regulated use of the charger couldn't hurt, now could it?
And thus, Doug pushed himself to his feet by using his knees as leverage, and he shambled over to the well-worn electrical outlet. He pulled the charger cord out of his lab coat pocket and plugged it in, walking back over to where Wheatley was eagerly wiggling on the cot. Doug rolled his eyes and bent down, grabbing a shabby pillow to slide under the bot's lower back to prop up his tailbone. He wrapped one hand around the bot's prick, and while Wheatley let out a keening little moan he slid the jack into the android's port. Electricity sparked to life along Wheatley's spine, and he arched his back as the pleasure assaulted him, flooding his entire system. Unfortunately, Doug had no intention of letting Wheatley abuse it this time. So he tugged the jack out of the bot's port in just a few minutes, and started slowly stroking the bot's artificial, but convincing, cock.
It certainly felt real to the haggard scientist, but he more than anybody knew not to let appearances be deceiving. He also wasn't exactly experienced at this sort of thing. for one, before the neurotoxin incident he had been a happily heterosexual man. But when you've been locked underground with an omnicidal AI running the very world you were trapped in, such petty things as sexual orientation ceased to be of any priority. But even so, he hadn't held a cock in his hand in a very long time. Not even his own, actually. So he had to rely on Wheatley's facial expressions to figure out if he was doing it right.
Thankfully for him, Wheatley had been pushed quite close to the edge by the short stint with the charger. It was only about a dozen or two strokes on his cock later that Wheatley was throwing his head back and bucking his hips, thrusting his prick into the embrace of Doug's hand before he released in spurts across his own belly. The bot smiled sheepishly up at Doug, who immediately wiped his hand on his lab coat. "Alright, go ahead and get dressed. I need your help cleaning up one of the older dens. I left some supplies behind by mistake."