In person? That...could get complicated. He was trying to help her out because her present predicament was his fault--and okay, because she fascinated him--but inviting her into his inner sanctum required a level of trust he wasn't sure he was ready for. And going out to meet her somewhere...ice prickled at his spine so he focused on the warmth coming through his speakers instead.
Hands on her tits...and now they both could visualize that, couldn't they? He had quite a nice angle on the latter--and now he'd gone and sent her the former for her own perverted mind to process. "I may have misjudged your star-power, pip. Unless the 10-star perv action only happens when you perceive yourself to be in mortal peril."
He cleared his throat, biting back a laugh as the video feed on his screen shook. "You seem very focused on my clothing situation--yes, I am--and all the filthy things in my head--none of which I'm going to share while you're armed. And I think it might be hampering your progress." A short curse from her confirmed it, and he clenched his fingers around the edge of his desk again. His rescue-bot was almost there, but it certainly wouldn't be able to catch her if she plummeted. "See? Okay. We'll put that last bit aside until you get up top. In the meantime, Rage, it's not a death-trap. It's just a harmless little unfinished maintenance shaft and honestly, I'm surprised you didn't know it was there." Amusement rode his words despite the fact he was trying to help her see reality and not whatever her sordid past had to offer. He considered the tamest of her pictures as he continued, "I mean, stopping for a break on top of something like this was pretty much an open invitation to fuck you."
There was a long pause.
>>I mean screw.
>>I mean screw with you.
>>TO DO BAD THINGS.
"Fuck," he muttered again and shouldn't have, both because he was still directly connected to her ears and because he had far better words in his brain that wouldn't simply reiterate his slip and none of them seemed inclined to make themselves known. "None of that is better."
Her accent rolled into his main room like a stroll through a classic British film, and he smiled. For all she pretended to be someone she wasn't, he was certainly enjoying this peek into the woman behind the handle. And she liked his code...trusted him? He found himself blushing harder than before at both. He'd never really considered his code to be more than efficient, any elegance coming from his own vocabulary and extending to the languages he used on the Net. Trust though...he wished he could let that in more easily. Wanted to invite her up--or down, as the case may be.
"Mmph," he gurgled at her blatant tease. Tongue...stars, Rage. Naughty, dirty little minx. Shifting to ease the pressure on his dick, he nearly groaned aloud as she painted a picture of tasting her on the inside of his mind next. The android halted about 100 feet south of the pit, sensors confused by commands he'd accidentally sent by closing his eyes. Fate caught it, stopping the thing from trying to put the moves on an innocent bystander. "Rage," he growled lightly, but didn't tell her it was because he was an idiot. No one needed to know that, especially not this woman. She'd never let him live it down.
"Failed a job and lost a bet," he lied, "and it was supposed to be a kitten." Lying's not the way to begin trusting someone, he berated himself inwardly. But it was also intensely personal, and...he eyed the screen that was now void of her horrific memories, the voices that ordered things like elimination, extermination of her brilliant, clever, sex-obsessed mind. "I...I'll tell you when you get topside. Please don't skewer the bot. I need to put him back when we're done."
The borrowed android knelt by the lip of the tube, bulk grav-anchored to the metal and hand extended.
Hands on her tits...and now they both could visualize that, couldn't they? He had quite a nice angle on the latter--and now he'd gone and sent her the former for her own perverted mind to process. "I may have misjudged your star-power, pip. Unless the 10-star perv action only happens when you perceive yourself to be in mortal peril."
He cleared his throat, biting back a laugh as the video feed on his screen shook. "You seem very focused on my clothing situation--yes, I am--and all the filthy things in my head--none of which I'm going to share while you're armed. And I think it might be hampering your progress." A short curse from her confirmed it, and he clenched his fingers around the edge of his desk again. His rescue-bot was almost there, but it certainly wouldn't be able to catch her if she plummeted. "See? Okay. We'll put that last bit aside until you get up top. In the meantime, Rage, it's not a death-trap. It's just a harmless little unfinished maintenance shaft and honestly, I'm surprised you didn't know it was there." Amusement rode his words despite the fact he was trying to help her see reality and not whatever her sordid past had to offer. He considered the tamest of her pictures as he continued, "I mean, stopping for a break on top of something like this was pretty much an open invitation to fuck you."
There was a long pause.
>>I mean screw.
>>I mean screw with you.
>>TO DO BAD THINGS.
"Fuck," he muttered again and shouldn't have, both because he was still directly connected to her ears and because he had far better words in his brain that wouldn't simply reiterate his slip and none of them seemed inclined to make themselves known. "None of that is better."
Her accent rolled into his main room like a stroll through a classic British film, and he smiled. For all she pretended to be someone she wasn't, he was certainly enjoying this peek into the woman behind the handle. And she liked his code...trusted him? He found himself blushing harder than before at both. He'd never really considered his code to be more than efficient, any elegance coming from his own vocabulary and extending to the languages he used on the Net. Trust though...he wished he could let that in more easily. Wanted to invite her up--or down, as the case may be.
"Mmph," he gurgled at her blatant tease. Tongue...stars, Rage. Naughty, dirty little minx. Shifting to ease the pressure on his dick, he nearly groaned aloud as she painted a picture of tasting her on the inside of his mind next. The android halted about 100 feet south of the pit, sensors confused by commands he'd accidentally sent by closing his eyes. Fate caught it, stopping the thing from trying to put the moves on an innocent bystander. "Rage," he growled lightly, but didn't tell her it was because he was an idiot. No one needed to know that, especially not this woman. She'd never let him live it down.
"Failed a job and lost a bet," he lied, "and it was supposed to be a kitten." Lying's not the way to begin trusting someone, he berated himself inwardly. But it was also intensely personal, and...he eyed the screen that was now void of her horrific memories, the voices that ordered things like elimination, extermination of her brilliant, clever, sex-obsessed mind. "I...I'll tell you when you get topside. Please don't skewer the bot. I need to put him back when we're done."
The borrowed android knelt by the lip of the tube, bulk grav-anchored to the metal and hand extended.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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