ol_yellow_eyes | OOMM: Data and River in London

Data watches and listens attentively, with eyebrows that are raised slightly. When she has finished talking, he glances down towards her hand on his arm, then back to her face. She has just been incredibly straightforward, and now that he is more certain of where this is going...

He slips one hand around to the small of her back, pulling her into a gentle, grateful kiss.

"Permission granted," he tells her softly, pulling back. "And 'for the record,' as the human expression goes, I would not have considered it at all selfish on your part. I very much want to be with you, if you would have me, and would enjoy it greatly."

He actually takes a deep breath after saying that. His pulse is running even faster than it was before, as he considers what he has just agreed to. Technology in the 52nd century is surely better than 24th-century technology, so it is easily conceivable that she will be able to find a solution to the problem.

She returns that kiss, a little less chaste this time, and when he pulls away, she stays close against him, her hands resting against his chest. When she speaks, her breath feathers against the corner of his mouth.

"As flattering as that is, and it is flattering to think of laying on that bed and letting you turn me inside out with your -- 'pleasuring techniques' -- I rather enjoy the thought of sharing that experience with you. Good sex is about letting go and enjoying yourself. And I can't do that if I think you're on the outside, looking in. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Data says, with a slight nod. "I can certainly understand why you would feel that way."

His eyes dart around her face for a few moments. With her hands on his chest, River might be able to feel the vibration of the pumping mechanism in his heart, which is currently operating at approximately 100 beats per minute.

Eventually, he leans in and kisses her cheek, softly but intentionally, back next to her ear.

"Let me know how I may assist you."

She beams at the gentleness of the kiss, her eyes darkening.

"You're shielded, fairly well, and yes, I did try to scan you earlier. My curiosity got the better of me. Call it the academic equivalent of taking a peek at your arse," she grins and winks at him.

"Do you have a maintenance port of some sort?"

Data raises an eyebrow at this revelation, but does not seem bothered by it.

"Several," he replies. "I assume that the one closest to my central processing unit will be the most useful to you."

He steps back just enough to give himself room to reach up to the right side of his head, and removes the panel on the side with a click. There is an port meant for some type of cable in the center, but it is possible to observe and scan his circuitry without using it.

She stands on her tiptoes, trying to get a good look, but eventually draws him over to the bed. "Sit."

He does, and she takes a moment to examine what's in front of her. "Some day," she muses, "I would love to see your schematics. And that's not a euphemism."

She thumbs the sonic screwdriver to life.

"Diagnostic first. This might tickle."

The green light plays over the circuits and she takes a moment to skim the readout. A few moments go by as she assesses what she's seeing.

"Your neural net is amazingly advanced for 24th century technology. Quite impressive. I see you have the capacity for all the possible emotive permutations. Whoa. What on -- that's not standard. Have you been modified by a technology outside your own?"

"I would be happy to show them to you sometime, if you would like," Data tells her, in regards to the schematics.

He thinks it is a little ironic, that she speaks of "tickling" when the lack of which is exactly the problem they would like to fix. Nevertheless, the fact that he is allowing her to access the most delicate parts of his inner workings is not without significance-- it never has been, since Data activated his emotional programming-- and it has noticeable emotional repercussions. It is both the anxiety and the thrill of being somewhat vulnerable, of trusting someone enough to let them in.

When she asks the question, Data looks confused for a moment, as he is not immediately certain what she is referring to. But he quickly remembers.

"Yes. I was captured by a race of partially cybernetic life forms who successfully grafted organic skin to my endoskeletal structure," he replies. "I suppose that there are traces of the necessary programming left behind in my positronic network. I did not realize."

"This is -- " She makes a quick set of adjustments to the screwdriver and starts working, her hands as delicate as any jewellers. Her voice trails off as she focuses.

It takes her a few minutes to find all the connections, but slowly, new sensations come online. Oddly, the first one is scent, followed closely by taste, and then his skin begins to wake up. She's flagged that leftover Borg protocol so he can see it in his own diagnostic programming, and now she's using it to network his external sensors with the parts of his emotional chip that define some very base and visceral sensations.

Data closes his eyes as he processes these new (but somewhat familiar) sensations. His breathing is uneven, audible, as his neural net is inundated with information. The feedback of his emotional programming is finally affecting tactile input, and the fact that he was already "aroused" is causing every nerve in his body to come alive with feeling. Feeling, not as in touching something and being able to correctly recognize the nature of its surface, but the fact that it actually means something. It hits him nearly all at once, and it is a bit overwhelming to say the least.

"That is--" Even the vibrations from his vocal mechanism feel like something, and he has to pause before starting again. "That is impressive. I would not have guessed... that you would be able to do it so quickly..."

He takes a moment to try forcing his breath to become even again, with limited success.

The optical input is the last to come online. She sits back and kneels down in front of him, looking up into his face, her expression one of nothing more than concern for his well-being.

"You all right?"

Her hands rest on his knees, and smiles up at him, hoping against hope that this was what he was expecting as well as being what he truly wanted.

He shudders slightly at her touch, and suddenly, he is a little afraid.

His emotional programming was designed to impair his judgment slightly. And with this amount of input, it is difficult to concentrate on anything besides the urges he is experiencing as a result of those emotions.

He is aroused, certainly. And he wants... He is happy, and he knows that she wants something too, and it is more tempting to show her how grateful he is, rather than simply telling her... In short, he would like to tackle her to the floor as quickly as his body will bring him there, and kiss her until she cannot breathe...

He could really injure her, he realizes.

His hands grasp the edge of the mattress, constricting to ball up the blanket partially in both fists. "I am fine," he responds, finally. "I may simply... need a few moments..."

She is so beautiful when she smiles...

He lowers his gaze to her hands on his knees, which helps only slightly.

She speaks quietly, conscious of how sensitive he is right now.

"You can disconnect it at any time you like. I flagged the new connections for your diagnostics. Just search on the parameter hello_sweetie."

She grins up at him, her thumb unconsciously stroking his thigh, wanting to soothe him.

"Thank you," he says, trying to look back up at her face again. It does not help that his gaze got caught momentarily somewhere in between. (His brows furrow for a moment though, thinking that is an awfully strange name for a search parameter...)

"Though it might be difficult... to force myself to deactivate it," he admits, flashing her an almost nervous half-smile. "It is..."

He trails off. He really cannot find a sufficient word.

"...Really something."

He looks back down at the hand that is rubbing his thigh. His own hand, the one closest to it, twitches a couple of times, and he slowly lifts it off the mattress. Swallowing, he gingerly touches River's hand, cherishing the pleasant feeling of her skin against his fingertips.

"If it's too much, we can -- postpone the, um, you know... It's a lot to assimilate, I realise."

Her hand turns in his and she brings his fingers to touch her cheek. Her eyes fall closed at the warmth of his touch.

"Or we can -- " She swallows hard, suddenly aware that all the signals she was missing before are now there in spades. His rapid pulse rate, his ragged respiration, his body language. She's awoken something in him and no way in hell is she turning back now.

The is a clear change in his facial expression when she offers to wait. The thought of not being with her in that manner tonight is actually a little distressing to him.

"I would like to," he tells her. "Although you may have to be somewhat... patient with me. It is a lot to assimilate..."

He is stroking her cheek now, softly, carefully. He traces down the side of her face to her lips, and stops. The skin on her lips is so much softer than the rest of her face... and warmer. He knew that would be true, of course-- it is true for humans in general-- but the realization did not make any difference before. He likes touching her cheek, but at the moment he is rather more enamored with the feeling of her lips. He traces them gently with his index finger, then adjusts to do so again with his thumb, so that his other fingers can rest underneath her jawline.

Edited 2010-11-20 13:51 (UTC)

Her lips part under his touch and she lifts her chin to accommodate his touch, but that thumb is far too much temptation. Her tongue comes out to taste his skin, washed fresh from when he tended her wound. She tastes salt and something not unpleasantly like raw silk, the barest hint of synthetic compounds following after.

She opens her eyes, not wanting to miss this part, and catches his thumb between her teeth, tongue and lips creating a gentle suction. The scientist in her wonders idly if his neural pathways will make the connection that most males make at this kind of stimulation.

It is not necessarily a natural connection for Data to make, but he has done enough research on symbolism in certain forms of art and literature that the possible association does occur to him. He gasps lightly at the feeling.

His eyes are glued to her mouth. He had not realized that there were further connections to be made between his emotional programming and his optical sensors, but they are there now, and they are quite obvious. It is an oddly pleasant (oddly stimulating) image, watching her tongue and lips move in that way.

He shifts forward on the bed, closer to her. His other hand reaches up to stroke loose strands of her hair, eventually burying itself in her curls. His breath is still uneven, and his eyes are wide, focused intently on the beautiful human in front of him.

She hums under her breath, her eyelids falling closed as she nudges against his hand. Slowly, oh so slowly, she rises in front of him, standing between his knees, her hands lightly caressing his face. Her voice is low for a woman's, her accent becoming more pronounced as she succumbs to desire.

"Now. Where do you want to begin?"

He lets out a breath, almost like a nervous laugh. He is smiling now in anticipation.

"I am not sure... where to begin," he admits. His hands are now resting just above her hips, his fingers lightly caressing the back of her waist. "Do you have any preference?"

If she does not, he might just have to start kissing her, wherever his lips find their way. Her skin is so soft, and so warm...

Edited 2010-11-21 07:02 (UTC)

"Well... I could quiz you on human erogenous zones."

Her fingertips trail along the shell of his ear, down to the lobe, exploring his skin with her own senses. Curious to know if he has the same fine hairs at the edge of his hair line.

"But that would be better done with less clothing, one thinks."

He does not, sadly. All of his hair is uniform in texture, and is only located (she will find) on his head. But it is possible that he has extra nerve endings in all appropriate areas.

"I suppose it would be," he replies, trailing his fingers around to the front of her hip, just above her thigh. He removes his hands from her, though, to undo the zipper on the shirt of his uniform. He pulls it off, revealing a black, short-sleeved undershirt underneath (and very pale, very toned-looking arms).

"Though I could quite easily take such a quiz with only one of us unclothed," he points out. He is unable to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her waist, if only for a few moments, so he can feel her warm, soft skin against his bare arms.

Her arms encircle his neck, and her fingers tease up into his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp.

"You could, but where's the fun in that?"

Her body leans into his embrace, and she grins down into his face, her midriff pressed against his sternum. He is much warmer to the touch than she'd anticipated, and the synthetic feel of his skin is strangely arousing. Goosebumps flare across her shoulders, down her décolletage, and across the tops of her breasts, her nipples rising to sharp little peaks under his breath.

He's strong, she can feel that much, and the more forward he is, the more she responds.

The goosebumps are noted (and they are certainly easy to spot, from this distance). Certain rarely-used subroutines are gradually being activated, and he will start responding according to her responses.

He removes one hand from her back to cup one of her breasts, simultaneously giving it a featherlight kiss. His other arm is pressing against her back, pulling her closer, still carefully but with far less hesitation now. He is slowly (slowly for an android, at least) learning how to concentrate in the midst of all these new sensations.

"I could attempt to show you where the fun would be in that, but you informed me that was not what you wanted," he says, looking up into her eyes again. His voice is slightly lower now, and just barely above a murmur.

Strangely enough, the more responsive he becomes, the more subroutines go offline in her brain. Like language, for instance, at least for a moment. She takes a shuddering breath at the feel of his lips. He pulls her closer and her back arches. A shiver runs down her spine, grounding in her hips.

She chuckles under her breath at his words, her eyes considerably darker now.

"Tell me what you want," she whispers, easing him back onto the bed. "Tell me in exquisite detail."

She may notice that he is supporting her a little bit, to make sure that the descent is gradual. Call him paranoid, but he still wants to be somewhat careful in light of her recent injury.

He brings his hand under her shoulder and around to the back of her head, teasing the edge of her ear lightly with his thumb. And he pulls her into a kiss, to see what experimenting he can do there. He keeps it light at first, even separating it into more than one, so there is time for their breaths to hit and tickle each other's lips.

Meanwhile, the arm that was around her back is sliding gradually down to her thigh, where he tugs gently, suggesting that she bring it higher and around to the outside.

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