Work Text:
The droid was hot.
Fuck.
The droid was hot.
You were hired to do a routine inspection on the Trailblazer, see if there was anything urgent that needed fixing. As a tech, you were used to working alongside droids. They were either chipper or grating.
They were never sexy.
When Kay let you onto the Trailblazer, telling ND to keep an eye on you as she sauntered down the ramp, you didn’t expect ND to be a liberated BX Commando droid with a tiny waist and a fucking trenchcoat. You stop in your tracks, doing a double take. He tilts his head, almost like you piqued his curiosity.
“The binary motivator has been acting up,” he says, curt, turning towards the cockpit. You follow, your steps not quite keeping up with your brain. Binary motivator. You’ve fixed those hundreds of times. You got this.
“Any clue what’s wrong with it?” You manage to say.
“No. I may be a droid, but I prefer not to work on tech if I can help it.” You supposed that made sense - you were an organic, but that didn’t mean you were well qualified to be a medic. ND is leaned back in the pilot’s chair, lounging, and the sight makes you feel warm in places you shouldn’t.
“Alright,” you say, pushing the wonderful, sexy thoughts aside. “I’m not familiar with this model of ship - we don’t see too many of them out here. Mind telling me where I’m looking?”
“Here,” he says, and nods his foot towards a panel that meets the floor at the back of the cockpit, and you internally groan. It wouldn’t be a problem if his chair was facing the viewscreen, but he has turned his chair to face you. Of course you’ll have to get on your hands and knees in front of him to fix it. Grabbing a wrench from your belt and kneeling down, you attempt to keep some shred of dignity by squatting instead of putting your ass on full display, but that proves difficult when you remove the panel and can barely reach inside.
Typically you paid no mind to how droids perceived you; you had gotten on your knees in front of them many a time. This, though, was different - you felt seen under his gaze, a sentience to him that was terrifying as it was attractive. The intrusive thought of running your tongue along his face flitters through your mind, and you shoo it away, feeling your body flush at the thought.
“You can’t reach it from there,” he says.
“Realizing that,” you say, and with the last shreds of your dignity, you get to your knees and kneel at the panel. The binary motivator is wedged deep into the crisscross of wires that make up the ship’s innards, and you lean in to reach it, only finding your arm isn’t quite long enough to reach it.
“You’ll have to go deeper,” ND says, and you swallow, knowing what he meant and what you heard are completely different. You say nothing in response and hope you’re not making too much of a fool of yourself as you shift closer to the panel, ducking your head inside. The motivator is in your reach, now, but it is tangled in a mess of wires that take time to unravel. As you pull the motivator loose, ND speaks behind you, and you can hear his mechanics whirring. It sounds like he’s bending down in the chair to view the inside of the ship.
“It’s a mess in there. I’ll have to clean that up.”
“I thought you said you don’t work on tech?” You ask.
“I always finish what I start,” he says, low, and you feel it between your legs. You want his voice close to you, above you, and most of all, coaxing you to finish.
You chastise yourself, knowing you’re reading into a situation that doesn’t exist. He is not interested in you - droids are not sexual beings, save for the glorified sex dolls that can be seen all over seedy parts of the city. But even then, they’re never acting of their own accord, their own free desire. ND wouldn’t want this with you because droids didn’t see organics in that way.
“I see,” you say, mouth suddenly dry, guilt rising from how aroused you are. You start the process of running diagnostics on the motivator, focusing on the work in front of you instead of your body. The first diagnostic comes back clean, so you run a second, more in-depth diagnostic while you check the wiring to ensure everything is plugged in correctly. When the second diagnostic comes back with no errors, you start to lean out of the small panel.
“Are you sure there’s any-” Your words stop as you feel the lightest of brushes against your ass, and you question if you actually felt it. The touch is gone and you continue.
“Are you sure there’s anything wrong with the binary motivator? I don’t see anything.”
“Maybe you should keep looking,” ND says, voice so low that your knees nearly give out. “There’s a lot of wires in there.” There’s the brush against your ass again, and you bite your lip to stop a groan.
“Unless you really think there’s nothing wrong,” he says. “You’re the professional who makes the final call. You could leave right now and move on to the next job.” There’s your out, but you push it aside without a second thought. Whatever the fuck ND is doing, you want to see through, selfish as it may be.
“I know what I’m doing, but do you know what you’re doing?” You ask, wanting to confirm he knows the implications of his actions.
“Oh, I definitely know what I’m doing,” he says, and he grabs your ass. You can’t hold back the whimper this time. Goddammit, how is a droid so sultry?
“Yeah. Yeah, you do,” you say, and you lean back into the panel.
“That’s it. Take another look.” His hands are on your ass, and you wonder if he immediately knew how you wanted him the moment you stepped aboard. The cabin dims as he closes the door to the cockpit; he turns on the viewscreen shades so efficiently it suggests he’s done this before. What were you in for? Your shaky hands do as you’re told, and you begin to run the same diagnostics over again.
He’s behind you again, running his hands along your ass before they snake around to your belt buckle. Oh. He knew exactly what he was doing - he was right about that.
“You’re the professional,” he says. “You can call this off at any time.”
You choke out, “I think I need to look some more before I wrap things up,” right as he pulls down your pants and underwear in one fell swoop. You lift your knees, and he pulls the clothing off of you, discarded somewhere in the cockpit. The cold air of the cockpit hitting your skin makes you shiver.
“Maybe a wider knee stance would help,” ND says, and spreads your legs apart. A moan spills from you as his metal fingers graze between your legs, probing, analyzing.
“Extremely wet,” he says, and you feel like a live wire. You rock gently against his fingers, desperate for more contact. “You’re very aroused.”
“Fuck, yeah, I am,” you say. “You’re fucking hot.” He chuckles - he fucking chuckles - and you moan as you get the slight ripples of pleasure from him.
“Organics and sexual attraction,” he says. “I’ll never understand it. But I enjoy it.” The fact that he enjoys this, enjoys bending you over and touching you, makes you let out a sound you would usually damper. Your head slightly bumps the top of the panel, and he tugs at your hips.
“Don’t go hurting yourself,” he says, as if you’re a silly organic with concepts of bruises and injuries. As you crawl out, you feel insignificant under his gaze, but in the way that you would revere a kind ruler. You grab the hem of your dirtied work shirt and pull, discarding your top and bra, completely baring yourself for him. You wanted him to see, wanted to feel his imposing gaze along the curves and waves of your skin.
He looks you up and down before sitting in the pilot’s chair. “Come here,” he says, and you oblige. His hands roam your form, pinching and pulling at your body with a preciseness that causes your hips to roll against him.
“You done this before?” You ask, breathless.
“What do you think?” He asks, a chuckle in his voice, and you feel silly for asking. Of course he had done this before - probably with more people than you had.
“Well, you definitely know what you’re doing,” you say as your legs settle on him. You finally get some delicious release grinding against his thigh.
“This okay?” You say.
“Yes,” he says as he grabs your breasts, squeezing and flicking the nipples. Your head tilts back in pleasure.
“What attracted you to me?” He asks, in a tone so musky you nearly turn to jelly.
“The, the voice,” you say as you thrust, barely cognizant through the fog of pleasure. “And the coat.” He does that damn chuckle again.
“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” he says, and one of his hands stops at your breasts to gently rub your clit.
“Good girl,” he says as you begin to rut against his thigh and hand more intensely. “I knew as soon as you walked onboard that you wanted this.” The thought should be mortifying, but you’re so wrapped up in ecstasy that it only spurs you on more.
“I’m close,” you say, and he maintains his tantalizing pace against your clit.
You come with several shudders and an overwhelming cascade of pleasure, ND guiding you through the whole time. When you’re done riding out your orgasm, you lean against his chest with a pant.
“That was…thanks.”
“You say that as if I was doing you a favor.”
You scrunch your brow. “Aren’t you?”
“No. I saw you last time we were in this port, and I wanted you then.” His words are enough to bring thoughts of a “part 2” to the forefront, but you push them off.
“Really.”
He runs a metallic finger against your upper arm. “Of course. I requested you specifically to fix our binary motivator.”
Your cheeks warm as you try to ignore the implication. “So…what now?”
He cups the bottom of your chin with two fingers. “Oh, I’m not finished with you yet.”