[ Romance isn't a luxury afforded to most YoRHa units; while there are no strict anti-fraternization rules in place, emotion and all emotion-related activities are considered superfluous at best and mission-compromising at worst. That, coupled with the fact that androids had never been properly programmed to feel as they do, leaves the majority of YoRHa emotionally stunted. 2B is no exception to this rule, even as her feelings for 9S bloom and bloom within her to the point where she feels she can't possibly accommodate them.
At his encouragement, 2B wants to smile. She doesn't, instead favoring to continue the work of her hands. She strokes him up and down, admiring the slickened drag of the not-flesh coating his arousal, the complicated mechanisms keeping him erect resilient in their firmness. The ache between 2B's thighs only seems to grow the more she explores the dips and bumps of the near-perfect shaft in her hand, her thumb tracing along the ridge of its crown before teasing along the slit at its tip.
Her heatsinks feel like they might be malfunctioning. Under normal circumstances, her processes would find ways to vent the overwhelming heat that threatens to fry her circuits, but those were usually reserved for combat situations and averse environmental conditions. There are no protocols for self-generated heating, and as such, 2B burns in her want of him. She can feel that selfsame heat rolling off of 9S in waves, and though their Pods are their ever-present sentinels, they are silent in their vigil. Their units' orders are absolute, and for that, 2B is grateful.
2B's lips part against 9S' own, a soft, needy moan rumbling against his lips as his hand finds the side of her head. The pattern his fingers find between her legs is maddening, unrelenting in its attentions and driving her half-insane. Still. All she can focus on is how close he is, and though she knows, logically, what a kiss is, nothing could have ever prepared her for the way it feels now.
"Love" is out of 2B's wheelhouse. She barely knows what it is, and she can't put a name to what she feels for 9S.
When he withdraws his hand, 2B feels a palpable sense of loss, her thighs quivering as her knees threaten to give way in the absence of stimuli. She isn't left waiting long as 9S begins to shift their positions, and 2B works in tandem with him, lifting her leg and allowing him to support her thigh. Though she's loath to do it (and it shows), she hesitantly breaks the kiss, a string of fluid bridging across their lips as she lowers her gaze to where their hips are about to meet, angling her own forward in order to accommodate him. Bracing her hand upon his shoulder for support, 2B leans back slightly, supporting her weight on one leg as 9S posits the head of his cock against her entrance.
She can see the both of their arousals from this position, and she quietly marvels; hers is a perfect swath cut into otherwise unmarred porcelain, dusted pink for strictly cosmetic purposes. Similarly, the tip of 9S' need is pink, flushed with fluid and hot with the touch.
2B opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. What can she possibly say in this situation? In a show of encouragement, she gently presses her hips into his, the head of his need pressing past the tight, slick entrance of her own arousal, the spike of heat to her systems causing her visor to short. ]
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At his encouragement, 2B wants to smile. She doesn't, instead favoring to continue the work of her hands. She strokes him up and down, admiring the slickened drag of the not-flesh coating his arousal, the complicated mechanisms keeping him erect resilient in their firmness. The ache between 2B's thighs only seems to grow the more she explores the dips and bumps of the near-perfect shaft in her hand, her thumb tracing along the ridge of its crown before teasing along the slit at its tip.
Her heatsinks feel like they might be malfunctioning. Under normal circumstances, her processes would find ways to vent the overwhelming heat that threatens to fry her circuits, but those were usually reserved for combat situations and averse environmental conditions. There are no protocols for self-generated heating, and as such, 2B burns in her want of him. She can feel that selfsame heat rolling off of 9S in waves, and though their Pods are their ever-present sentinels, they are silent in their vigil. Their units' orders are absolute, and for that, 2B is grateful.
2B's lips part against 9S' own, a soft, needy moan rumbling against his lips as his hand finds the side of her head. The pattern his fingers find between her legs is maddening, unrelenting in its attentions and driving her half-insane. Still. All she can focus on is how close he is, and though she knows, logically, what a kiss is, nothing could have ever prepared her for the way it feels now.
"Love" is out of 2B's wheelhouse. She barely knows what it is, and she can't put a name to what she feels for 9S.
When he withdraws his hand, 2B feels a palpable sense of loss, her thighs quivering as her knees threaten to give way in the absence of stimuli. She isn't left waiting long as 9S begins to shift their positions, and 2B works in tandem with him, lifting her leg and allowing him to support her thigh. Though she's loath to do it (and it shows), she hesitantly breaks the kiss, a string of fluid bridging across their lips as she lowers her gaze to where their hips are about to meet, angling her own forward in order to accommodate him. Bracing her hand upon his shoulder for support, 2B leans back slightly, supporting her weight on one leg as 9S posits the head of his cock against her entrance.
She can see the both of their arousals from this position, and she quietly marvels; hers is a perfect swath cut into otherwise unmarred porcelain, dusted pink for strictly cosmetic purposes. Similarly, the tip of 9S' need is pink, flushed with fluid and hot with the touch.
2B opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. What can she possibly say in this situation? In a show of encouragement, she gently presses her hips into his, the head of his need pressing past the tight, slick entrance of her own arousal, the spike of heat to her systems causing her visor to short. ]