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You weren’t sure exactly how Androids felt.
Wait. Rephrase.
You weren’t entirely sure how they felt in terms of literal feeling, the ability to feel sensations and filter them through their version of a brain and come to a conclusion. Though you suppose it was true in terms of emotions or literal thoughts, your consideration was more in physical sensations, the ability to feel pleasure and pain.
You knew enough that they didn’t feel pain quite like humans did--you have seen instances of Androids taking a lot of damage and not being quite as incapacitated as a human with a similar injury. You knew that they perceived it far more technically, a bit more detached in response. Someone had once tried to explain it as best they could.
“When injured, there are messages about that injury that pop up in the consciousness; depending on the severity of the injury, that message will hold a level of priority above anything else that’s already being done. It can be ignored, sure, but that takes a lot of willpower and focus.”
It sounded a lot like pain to you, just in a more medical format--regardless, you didn’t care to know so much the literal answer than the metaphorical one: how do Androids feel?
Most people didn’t really care about the answer--most people you knew about, at least. It simply wasn’t something that mattered.
To you, however, it mattered. To you, the question hinged on someone you loved dearly, and it claimed a level of importance in your thoughts that it absolutely enraptured your curiosity, because it would give you an understanding you craved to know about what was happening right now before your eyes--about the Android who knelt in front of you.
Connor was beautiful. Sure, he had a level of masculine beauty that made you wonder what model or old celebrity he might have been based on (if any), but he also held a very feminine sort of beauty as well, which often led you down the rabbit-hole of how an Android was designed in terms of being pretty or aesthetically perfect--
Regardless, Connor was beautiful, and you loved everything about him--everything that made him unique and special than anyone else in the world. You loved his soft skin, you loved his soft hair, you loved the spark of curiosity in his eyes and the strength in his arms whenever he literally swept you off your feet.
There was so many things you loved about Connor, but the most intriguing, the most beautiful thing was also sometimes his true undoing--a sensitivity to pleasure.
Though he had absolutely no need to feel physical pleasure in his original design, you had figured out quickly enough that he felt it impossibly well. Whether it was a stroke of your fingertips across his cheek or your lips on his throat, Connor could easily melt into your hands if he wanted to, leaving you with the most lovely sight.
“You’re always so good to me,” you say in a whisper, gazing down at the man in front of you. Though he was not bound in any way, Connor knelt keenly before you, his head gently resting against your knee and waiting for whatever you cared to do to him that night. It wasn’t a rare moment between you both, and that is what spurred your curious question about Androids and their physical sensations in the first place--it wasn’t something Connor could answer either.
You card gentle fingers through his hair, tussling it carefully, just enough for him to feel the sensation of your fingertips against his scalp. Connor lets out a soft hum, pleased by the sensation.
“What do you want to do tonight?” You asked after a moment, mentally taking note of the situation. It didn’t feel like he wanted sex tonight, not completely--you could sense a certain amount of desire in his eyes and otherwise wanted to hear him say it. “It’s not like we have anywhere to be right now.”
You felt him sigh against your knee.
“Could we…” he trailed off, gaze to the ground and fidgeting with his hands. “...could we maybe…” The fidgeting only got more noticeable as he lost himself in his own thoughts.
He looked beautiful and oh so vulnerable . It was a treat, an honor, to see him so open and unsure, so wanting and curious all wrapped up into the beautiful Android before you. You knew exactly what he wanted, but god did you want to hear him say it.
“Connor, I need to hear you ask,” the hand that had been playing with his hair gently dipped down to grab his chin, pull his face up so that he had to look at you in return. “If you want to be a good boy right now, you have to tell me what you want.”
That did it.
Connor took in a breath, though completely unneeded, and let it out all at once:
“Iwantyoutosuckmeoff.”
Though smiling, you lifted a brow in amusement, an unspoken and soft command.
The man fidgeted for a moment, but didn’t try to pull away from where you still held his chin, didn’t stop leaning against your leg as he spoke slower, slow enough to understand and see the soft tinge of blue over his cheeks.
“I...want you to suck me off.” He paused and pursed his lips together. “It feels really good when you do it.” It was factual, blunt, and sounded exactly like Connor with such a beautiful dash of intimate vulnerability you only ever got to see in the bedroom. He had to be in the right headspace, the right mental state to see him so openly submissive--and it was so beautiful.
“Could you ask a little nicer?” Your voice tipped with the words, an air of authority mixing with softness. “If you want it so bad, you should ask nicely.”
It took little more than a few seconds for him to understand what you wanted from him--a few seconds for him to let his thoughts fall into place in the environment being carefully unfolded.
“....Please?” he whispered sweetly. Connor tilted his head, gaze falling for but a moment as he repeated it again, and then a third time more. Whether it was a show or genuine feeling in his eyes, you took it all the same, abruptly standing up and around Connor’s still-kneeling form.
“Get on the bed,” is all that you need to say before he’s doing exactly that, face flushed and hands carefully working off his clothes, one piece after another. You don’t move to help him, and it makes the moment all the more intimate when he realizes it--that you’re watching him like a hawk, watching him strip down for you.
Connor pauses as his eyes meet yours, hands still from pulling the tie from around his neck.
All you do is lean back against the wall on the other side of the bedroom, a smile on your lips and amusement mixing with the heat in your gaze.
“Why are you stopping?” The question sounds simple, but it weighs in the air like bricks. “Keep going--I want to see all of you.”
It’s a heated moment, but one that Connor recovers from quickly enough. He continues where he had left off, but moving slower as he shrugs off his jacket, licking his lips as he pulls off his shirt. There are so many things, so many tics that you can see in him as he strips down in front of you, details that are so uniquely Connor in a way nobody ever got to see of him before.
By the time he’s completely naked, Connor already looks ruffled. His hair is beautifully out of place than normal, unkempt in a way that intimacy usually does to it. His cheeks are tinged blue, flushed in the closest way that an Android can be--and his LED is a bright, flashing yellow to prove it so. Connor sits on the bed, naked and unsure and so perfectly exposed to you.
You wonder idly if Androids held the same importance of dignity that humans did--if it was programmed into them or if they learned it over time; nevertheless, Connor looks bashful as you step closer to the bed, taking all of him in with a heavy glance up and down his body.
And, try as he might, you heard a very distinct whimper come from him.
It made your mind race with want.
“Lay back for me,” you said, and Connor did just that. He moved smoothly back onto the sheets, leaving you with plenty of room to crawl on the bed and over his form. Your eyes met for a moment, only a moment, before your lips dipped and found his throat.
How did Androids feel?
You’ve long told Connor not to stifle his noises of pleasure, and he has never once done otherwise. For even something as simple as a kiss against his pulse, you can hear him whimper again, his body shiver for a moment as you kiss down to his collarbone, and then to the center of his chest.
His lips shape your name in a ravishing plea. It sounds so strained and wanting, but Connor has yet to fall to the last rung, the last handle--so you continue at the same pace. Lips kiss down his chest and to his soft belly, carefully built for dexterity instead of raw strength. You can’t help but love it with a nuzzle, hands gently caressing at the curves of his hips when you ultimately stop caring about keeping yourself propped up--laying on him is much nicer anyway.
He whimpers your name again, even more tense that time, and reaches one hand towards your head.
It takes barely a moment for your eyes to shoot up and stare him dead in the face, body otherwise stilling completely.
“Connor,” his name gently falls from your lips. “Put your hands at your sides and do not move them .”
Connor, frozen from the sudden intensity in your gaze, takes a moment to adjust. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to, but he otherwise moves his hands to lay idly on either side of his body.
Only when he complies completely do you continue once more, lips and tongue ravishing his soft skin with kisses and hickies that won’t ever truly form. Your fingers rub over his hips in slow, even motions, feeling the way they jut and wiggle below your body’s weight.
“I--” he tries, eyes shut tight and bottom lip drawing between his teeth. “I want---I just---”
You say nothing, mouth pausing its motions down his body when you end at the bottom of his belly--you can feel his hard, hot length further down your body, bobbing and wanting for any bit of pleasure or touch you could offer--but you stilled.
“Beg,” is all you care to say by that point, wanting just as much as Connor to move lower, but wanting more to hear him plead for it. Beg for it. Yearn for it.
And then he finally breaks, finally falls into a form of complete exposed pleasure. Your name is perfectly framed in between all of his babbled words, sounding reverent and loving and a million gorgeous things all at once.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” Connor almost sobs. You can feel his hands clenching at the bed sheets, otherwise still and unmoving as you had told him seconds ago. “Please put your mouth on me--it feels so good and hot and I want it so bad pleasepleaseplease-”
You enjoy the sound for a breath before even you can’t even hold out to it, his sweet voice asking--begging--for the pleasure you gave him.
It didn’t take much to gently suck him into your mouth--carefully shielding your teeth with your lips and swallowing as much as your throat would allow and god, sweet heavens above, did Connor sound perfect.
His babbling only grew worse with every moment you had him in your mouth, tongue pressing against his cock and head bobbing in rhythm. His hips continued to wiggle, eager for more pleasure, wanting for more of that delicious heat--but you held them down. Connor was more than strong enough to overpower your hold, more than strong to do whatever he wanted, but he let himself fall into the sweet, hazy, lovely mindset of submissiveness. He let you see him like that, body tense and shaking and mouth dripping with euphoric babble.
He was so beautiful like that.
Eventually, his babbling had a level of coherence to it. You could pick out a new question, a new phrase of want that only added to the heat of the moment.
“Pleaseletmecum.”
You honestly had never heard Connor beg to cum before--typically he simply came, maybe given you a warning in case you didn’t want to taste the artificial version of semen which, usually, you appreciated.
But there was something about hearing him beg for it, unprompted and never told that he couldn’t cum without permission--he simply decided that he needed your permission to orgasm, and that alone was a fact that made your mind swim with passionate wonder.
Connor sounded like he was almost sobbing by that point, his nerves frazzled and his body on overdrive as it tried to make heads or tails of what you were doing to him. His legs were spread apart, wider than they strictly needed to be for your head to be between them, and his heels were pressed into the bed, but not enough to thrust his hips up to your mouth; he restrained himself against your touch, your hands over his hips, and continued to blabber and babble in a tone of pure submissive perfection.
“I want to cum--let me cum--please?--” he bit his lower lip and clenched harder still at the bedsheets. “I’ve been good--so good--I wanna cum in your mouth--” he practically whined. “Pleaseletmecuminyourmouthdarling.”
You weren’t about to take your mouth off of his cock, not for one moment. Instead, you slid one of your hands up his chest and gently tapped it to capture his attention. Carefully--or as carefully as one could in that moment, you wrote an unseen word on his chest, fingertip barely caressing over his sensitive skin.
Yes.
You weren’t sure if he would get it at first, almost worried that you would have to break the moment to move your head up and tell him, quickly, before swallowing his cock again and letting him enjoy what he wanted so badly.
Luckily for you, Connor was a very smart, very sensitive person--he understood the message near-instantly. After barely a few heartbeats you could feel him still--
And then he came with a shout of your name on his lips, a blissful sound of pleasure, want, warmth and love all wrapped together. You swallowed down all you could of him, his hips finally fighting against your hands until the pleasure was over, until the Android was boneless and warm beneath you.
It was then that you finally sat yourself up, rubbing off some of the excess fluid from your mouth onto a sleeve, and looking down at the one you loved so much. He was smiling like an idiot, looking up at you like that.
“Why did you ask to cum?”
The question came gently, filling the silence as your body finally settled beside him. Connor looked as bashful as he could for otherwise being, well, him, and began to fidget with his hands.
“I thought it was….appropriate,” he said after a few moments. “I...wanted you to tell me I could.”
You couldn't help but feel something bubble up in your chest at how he looked, how he sounded in confiding in you--you certainly couldn’t stop the love that filled you when your arms wrapped around Connor’s body either.
How did Androids feel?
You didn’t know, probably never would know, but you knew enough that Connor loved feeling you, being touched by you, being loved by you.
There was nothing in the universe that would make you want to change that.