Work Text:
Ever since they’d bailed on the Project, it’s just been York and Delta -- for a few years, now, and though York’s lost count of the exact number of months since they hijacked a shuttle and gunned it, Delta’s never forgotten the date. He reminds her every year, just to benchmark their survival in this war-infested galaxy. Because for all their skills and combined wits, the universe is a tough place when you’re all on your own. York’s just glad she still has Delta.
Of course, it still gets lonely from time to time, and every once in a while York finds herself slipping into old habits -- dimly lit, smoky little dive bars are a universal constant, as far as she’s concerned, and so are the sorts of guys who can look past the scar on her face, but not far enough to scramble for more than a night of twisted sheets, and that suits her just fine. York and Delta are always on the move, anyhow. Things are never quite safe enough to stay put for long.
Sometimes it’s the first thing she does when they get to a new city, like she’s familiarizing herself with new territory or just breaking it in a little -- because nothing says welcome to your new home like a housewarming party in somebody else’s bed. It’s easy to fall into step with a warm body pressed up against hers, because it’s always a different guy, a different city, but it’s the same -- the war might’ve changed a lot of things, but this is familiar, and she’s long since figured out how this goes. She knows the look from across the bar, the idle conversation, the rustle of clothing audible only between each heated breath -- it’s not quite like coming home, but it’s close enough. Then again, these days, Delta’s the closest thing to home she’s really got.
Every inch of it is familiar to her, though, down to the way she waits to hear that telltale steady breathing, waits till he’s asleep before she crawls silently out of bed and reaches for her clothes and the things she always carries with her.
Delta’s always polite enough to withdraw to the back of her mind during those more intimate moments, because she can’t exactly shut him off (and she wouldn’t, not for a second), but it’s nice to have a few blissful moments to herself, free of any internal interruption. He doesn’t utter a word until she’s already outside and a fair distance away from the man’s apartment, heavy bag slung over one shoulder.
York. His voice comes on in the forefront of her mind, buzzing pleasantly in her consciousness.
“Evening, D,” she says aloud, because there’s no one else to hear her, any murmured noise smothered by the sound of traffic all around her. It’s a damp night, a few hours after rainfall, and the asphalt is slick with rain, throwing back bright reflections of street lamps and brake lights. “Glad to see you decided to rejoin the party.”
It appears that it would be more accurate to say that the party is already over, Delta hums, and York lets out a tired little snort.
“You oughta know better, D. It’s only just gettin’ started.” York stops at an intersection, wrinkling her nose up at the dark, overcast sky. Any stars that might have been visible past the cloud cover are drowned out by the glaring city lights, and the buildings soar so high she can only see the sky in jagged patches. “You find us a place to stay yet?”
Odds of obtaining an appointment to sign a lease at this hour are infinitesimal.
“Yeah, yeah, I figured. You find any more temporary arrangements, maybe?”
Delta falls silent for just the slightest moment, and then York immediately has directions in mind to their place for the night. She murmurs a thanks to him and immediately crosses the street once she has the right of way, turning left at the opposite corner. There’s a hesitant note to Delta’s usual quiet hum before he speaks again.
You would not have violated social protocol had you stayed for the duration of the night.
“Yeah, maybe not. Avoids a whole lot of unnecessary awkward this way, though.” York bites at her thumbnail, her boots treading on the pavement, wet little slaps of the soles sounding with every step. “No sense in stickin’ around just to watch them wait till you leave.”
Have you considered another option?
“Like what?”
You could seek a more long-term solution.
York’s brows knit in an expression of brief confusion for just a moment, and then her lips tug down into a frown. “What, you mean like a boyfriend? C’mon, D. You know that’s more trouble than it’s worth.”
But you repeatedly seek companionship with other people. A man designated for such companionship would be far more efficient, and would reduce the time you spend seeking it by approximately eighty percent.
“I’m not lookin’ for companionship, D. Just sex.”
I was not aware there was a significant difference.
York’s certain at this point that Delta’s just arguing semantics with her for the hell of it, because for as long as he’s spent in her head, he can’t be that dense. She rolls her eyes, mostly to herself. “I don’t want a boyfriend, D. Not like this. Besides, you’re the only companion I really need.” She grins cheekily, knowing that Delta will get the sentiment even if he’s not actually looking at her face, and turns left at the next corner.
When they’d first started out, living on the run like this, York had stayed in nice places -- high-rise apartment buildings, or if it was a particularly short stay, a nice hotel. But they were a little too pricey in the end, with how frequently they’ve been moving and how sparse money was starting to get. After all, it’s not like they’ve had any work -- and the money York can scrape together from credit card fraud and cheating the system and, when it comes down to it, breaking and entering -- it doesn’t go nearly as far as she’d like it to, and these days York finds herself down to petty theft just to make rent on the places she actually pays for.
She does try to stay in places she pays for, though, if only because squatting in abandoned buildings makes for less than comfortable living. Rundown apartments in ugly neighborhoods aren’t particularly glamorous, either, but electricity and running water go a long way. York had never thought she’d see the day when she’d stop taking air conditioning for granted. And for all that they might be down to the wire on cash, that York finds herself resorting to breaking and entering more and more often these days, she never goes hungry. That’s the handy thing about your traveling buddy living in your head -- York never has to worry about feeding Delta.
They spend one night in what York’s pretty sure was a shopping mall development at some point, but the investors must’ve bailed out before the place could ever even open. There are shards of glass on the floor in some places from skylights long since broken, but the place is so vast, it’s not hard to find someplace to hole up till morning. Even while York sleeps, Delta always stays alert, humming quietly in the back of her mind and keeping an eye out. She can sleep easy knowing that if some threat were to present itself, Delta would be able to wake her in a second.
It’s just one night, though, and then they’re in a real apartment again. But for how long, neither of them is sure -- sometimes they hang around a city for months, and sometimes it’s only weeks before it’s time to pick up and move again. For now, though, York’s glad to have a real roof over her head, sleeping in a real bed, even if it creaks a little when she shifts.
Some nights she just isn’t up for looking for sex -- sometimes, even just sitting in a shitty little dive two blocks away is more than she’s willing to do, and sometimes, she just doesn’t want to deal with other people. Some nights, she’s content to lie in her bed, however creaky, eyes closing with a sigh as she slides a hand down her stomach, thumbing at the waist of the well-worn gym shorts she always goes to sleep in.
York.
She’s used to the abrupt mode of address -- really no need for niceties when the other half of the conversation lives in your head -- but Delta’s usually prudent enough to keep to himself when York gets in a little alone time for herself. She lets out a slow breath, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling.
“Yeah?”
If you have no need for companionship, then why do you continue to seek other people for sexual gratification when you are adequately capable of relieving this need yourself?
“Is there a pressing need for you to have this conversation right now, or do you just think this is funny?”
Delta says nothing, but his humming presence in her mind doesn’t recede. York gets the distinct impression that he’s not going to leave her alone until she answers his question. She lets out a sigh of resignation, drawing her hand back up over her exposed stomach.
“Man, explaining this to you is probably gonna be a waste of time, isn’t it?” York lets her arm fall limply at her side for a moment before she folds both hands beneath her head, drawing her legs up. “It’s different with somebody else. It’s -- well, it’s more fun, for starters. You can’t predict exactly what someone else is gonna do. There’s only so much I can do by myself, and sure, it works, but after a while, you just start missing having someone else to touch you.”
Delta is quiet for a moment, as if considering this. So it is the variable which you find enjoyable in intercourse.
“Y’know, when you put it like that, it sounds so much less fun. But yeah, in a word.”
But it is the variable which also causes you frustration and displeasure, Delta notes. I have indexed such emotions many times during intercourse. You are often agitated when your partner does not perform to your liking.
“It’s kind of unavoidable.” York stares up at the ceiling, crossing one leg over the other. “They’re one-off encounters, D. No time to really get to know each other. Not like we have a little meeting before we get naked and lay out everything we like and don’t like. So yeah, sometimes I don’t get exactly what I want. Sometimes they use too much tongue, or not enough, or whatever. You get the idea.”
And yet you still seek intercourse.
“Pros outweigh the cons, D. Nobody gets everything they want.” York settles into the bed a little more comfortably, having resigned herself to the knowledge that this is probably going to be a long conversation, and she’s probably not going to get any peace tonight. Sometimes Delta’s just like that -- extra chatty, like he needs the reassurance. York can understand that. “Still more fun than relying on my right hand all the time.”
Delta doesn’t say anything at first, and for a second York thinks he might be about to withdraw to the back of her mind again, leaving the conversation at that. But when he does speak, even within the confines of her mind, there’s an odd note to his voice, one she can’t quite pin down. There is an alternative.
“Yeah? I’m all ears.”
I have the memory of every one of your past sexual encounters at my disposal, Delta says, and she swears his voice seems to gain a little confidence with every word. I have indexed your likes and dislikes. There is no need for you to get to know me, or vice versa.
York’s brow knits together in a look of hesitant confusion, and she squints at the ceiling as she tries to find some other intended meaning in what he’s just said. She lets out a short laugh of disbelief and says, “I’m sorry, D -- are you volunteering to have sex with me?”
If he were projecting a hologram right now, she knows it’d give that momentary flicker. In a manner of speaking, yes.
“Hey, uh, hate to point out the obvious, but -- ” York pulls her hands out from underneath her head, still wading in a pool of mild bafflement. “You’re an AI, buddy. You don’t have a body. Not that I’m, uh, not flattered, but -- ”
A ghostly sensation passes over her, and York swears she feels the brush of a hand over her stomach. She lets out a truncated noise of surprise, her whole body jerking against the bed in one single startled motion.
It will feel more real if you relax and close your eyes, Delta says, rather calmly. York’s eyes, though, are wide with alarmed puzzlement, darting around the dark room.
“The hell was that?”
Artificial sensory input. In simpler terms, I tricked your brain into thinking someone touched you.
“You can do that?” Despite his advice, York’s entire body is still tensed, her eyes still darting around the room almost nervously. There aren’t a lot of things that’ll flap York, but shit, that’s unnerving without a little warning first.
It would appear so. Please relax and close your eyes. Delta’s voice is the same in her mind as always, but there’s a certain softness to it that York swears she hasn’t heard before, almost soothing. He hesitates, though, a note of uncertainty threaded into his voice. However, if you would like me to stop, I will cease immediately.
“No -- no, that’s not what I meant,” York says hastily, still a little baffled. But she lets the tension seep out of her, sinking down into the bed with a huffed breath, and her eyes slide closed, but her lips are still twisted into a half-frown. “It’s just -- D, you really don’t have to -- ”
Your assumption that I am doing this out of a sense of obligation is incorrect.
“What, you mean -- you want to?” York opens one eye, her good one, and she raises her eyebrows at no one in particular in the dark room. Delta doesn’t need light to know the face she’s making.
Delta pauses, and York wonders if she’s totally off the mark. She sighs, lets her eyes slide closed again as she melts into the worn mattress, and for a moment, she’s not sure he’s going to answer her.
Yes, he says simply, and York feels the familiar brush of lips against hers.
He wasn’t kidding about it feeling more real. It’s startling, is what it is, and York has to fight the urge to bolt upright, eyes snapping wide open. She knows there’s nobody here but her, not physically, and yet she can feel a certain heavy warmth just next to her, lying across her like an arm over her chest so that the hand can curl loosely around her shoulder. She knows it’s just her in the room, but mixed in with the faint scent of dust and fabric softener and mildew is something else, something rich and musky and almost familiar.
Delta’s digging deep for this, putting down roots in the most intimate corners of her mind. He’s not just working on input, he’s playing with instinct -- instinct like the way York unconsciously reaches to slide her arm around the man who isn’t there, and even when her hand grazes the mattress instead, she swears she feels skin under her fingertips. It’s goddamn weird, the way she feels both, simultaneous but discrete, like two images trying to occupy the same space -- but she finds that if she focuses on it, lets herself sink into it, then it feels about as close to real as it’s going to get.
York feels a mouth press to hers again, and her breathing quickens just slightly. There’s a flash of sensation, of knowing that there’s a warm body pressed to hers, the slow drag of lips and teeth against hers, even when she knows it’s just Delta. But then again, he’s never been just Delta, not where York’s concerned.
She’s not sure when it is exactly -- it seems to go slowly, smoothly, along with the little flicker of heat that starts low in her belly and creeps its way insidiously up through her chest -- but at some point she’s stopped simply lying there, no longer just passively absorbing every ghostly touch Delta injects into her mind. She’s kissing back, now, tasting his tongue on hers, and she's no longer absolutely certain how much of her response is rooted firmly within the confines of her mind.
But even as she shifts on the bed, feeling the heat of someone else's body against her skin where there should only be cool air, the rustle of the sheets sounds distant. It's hard not to be absorbed by the sensation, especially when her mouth is suddenly free to gasp down a short lungful of air, and she feels the brush of lips and tongue along her jaw, of skin just a little rough with stubble. It feels like the sensations only grow sharper, more vivid as seconds tick by, like some sort of gradual suspension of disbelief. York's too preoccupied with the way his teeth scrape against the hollow of her throat or the way his short hair feels against the press of her fingertips to bother wondering about it anymore.
Her bedroom in this apartment is narrow, a little cramped, and the dry rustle of skin against sheets and York’s shallow breathing are more than enough to fill up the air. But with the way those hands drag across her breasts, her nipples stiffening under the calloused pad of a thumb and a warm, wet tongue, it’s only a matter of time before a low, keening groan slips free from her throat. She’s dimly aware that somewhere in the back of her mind, there’s a steady, pleased humming.
It isn’t until she feels a hand slide across her bare stomach, reaching down between her legs to cup at her cunt, that she realizes she hasn’t once felt even the faintest flicker of disappointment, of annoyance. There’s been no pause, no need to nudge the unseen body on top of her in the right direction -- there’s a viscous flow to it, steady and deliberate, every touch placed where it’ll excite her most but never quite where she expects. She feels a tongue trace along the shell of her ear as a finger drags along her cunt, tracing the slick line where her lips meet, and there’s something teasing about the gesture that fucking drives her wild. York arches up into that touch with a harsh little breath, silently demanding more, but that finger slips away, dragging instead along her inner thighs. She can sense a wicked sort of delight in the way he touches her, and it occurs to her in a sudden flash of insight that this -- this simulation, this facsimile of a man designed to touch York in the ways she always wants but rarely gets -- it’s not just an amalgamation of all her past partners mushed into one, a highlights reel of all the best parts of all the best sex she’s ever had. Because there’s something undefinable to it, some character, some personality in the way he moves that doesn’t feel quite so patchwork, and York realizes that it’s Delta. He’s learned what she likes just from her memory, wealths of information about York, and he’s willfully using that knowledge, but this solid body she feels against hers, the way he touches and pulls and presses against her with such deliberate desire, that comes from Delta. It has to, because York doesn’t ever recall anyone quite like this.
And it occurs to her, just a dim flicker of thought in the back of her mind, that this simulation is far too seamless to have been tossed together on the fly, that Delta must have spent some time putting this all together, assembling a simulated body, a partner with whom she could have intercourse that maximizes her potential for pleasurable outcome, as she’s sure he’d put it -- he’d been planning on this, somehow.
That little cockbite.
York decides she’s not going to dwell too hard on it for now.
She lets out an impatient little noise, though not altogether displeased, and she nudges at him -- at Delta, or at least what counts as his mindfuck brainspace avatar. She feels her knee pass through cool air, but at the same time she can feel the resistance, the pressure as she presses at his hip. He drags his fingers back over her, pressing one finger past her slick lips as his other hand grazes over her bare thigh, and York almost forgets that in the room, physically, she’s still wearing all of her clothes.
She lets out a ragged breath that catches halfway in her throat, heels digging into the mattress as her hips arch up into his hand. It’s not much, but it’s enough, enough to make her squirm and writhe not just from the sensation but from the sheer anticipation of it. York feels his other fingers slide along the outside of her cunt, pressing in, and fuck she can’t tell how many he’s pushing into her now, just the dull, searing pressure of his fingers inside her.
“Jesus Christ, D -- ” she bites out, just before she feels his lips smear against hers again, and she swears she can feel Delta quietly noting in the back of her mind that the strained edge to her voice is still at least 45% disbelief.
But his voice doesn’t echo in her mind, doesn’t tell her to lie back and relax -- she just feels his fingers press tighter into her, his other hand gliding up her stomach to cup one of her breasts, and when he gives it a firm squeeze, kneading her flesh with his fingers, York can’t help but arch her hips off the bed with a strained, creaky groan.
She tries to reach for him, to grab at him, and she feels her hands pass through thin air and collide with the broad set of his shoulders at the same time. Any further noise she makes seems to be muffled as he presses his mouth against hers with a hot breath, and she feels his fingers slide out of her cunt. She tries to nudge him with thin groan of complaint, but her voice is truncated by a shivering gasp as he drags his wet fingers up her thigh, over her hip and stomach, and she can feel the air chilling the path he’d drawn on her skin.
The simulation is intricately detailed down to every last intimate nuance, and there’s a kind of vague, shapeless affection in every detail, silent, subtly textured evidence of just how much time and effort this much had taken Delta -- how much care. She can feel that ache between her thighs, the way it intensifies in the absence of the firm pressure of his fingers, and she drags her teeth against his lower lip, her tongue sweeping over it, and she can taste him, almost familiar. Every fresh touch on her skin is burningly new, exciting and unexpected, but at the same time there’s something about it that’s broken in, comfortable, weirdly intimate.
There’s an agonizing several seconds where York feels nothing but his weight on the bed next to her, his fingers dragging up her stomach and over her breasts, his tongue pressing against hers, and she starts to feel a ripple of heated frustration. “Dammit, D, c’mon -- ” she mumbles against his mouth, and she swears she hears him laugh, just a quiet breath of amusement.
But it’s then that she feels his weight shift on top of her, pinning her to the bed with a kiss that drags away from her lips to her jaw at precisely the right moment to make her squirm, to make her lean into every touch as his teeth graze her jaw and his knee nudges at her thigh, spreading her legs just enough that he can settle between them.
And there’s a moment there, as she feels the heel of his hand push into her shoulder, where she almost snaps her eyes open, almost stops to stare at the space above her she knows is empty, but then she feels Delta’s cock push into her and the sheer pressure of it whites everything else out for a moment and Jesus Christ did she really just think the words Delta’s cock.
A strained groan forces itself from her chest, leaping into a yelp halfway through, and she grabs a fistful of threadbare sheet in one hand, drawing her leg up on the bed as she feels him just sink into her. The heat settled just below her belly surges as his hips ease against hers, a steady, slow burn, but he only takes it slow for the first few short strokes, drawing his hips back before she even knows she wants him to, and then with a little grunt she thinks she might’ve imagined, he thrusts into her.
“Fuck -- ”
York bites out the word, her teeth almost snapping together, and any restraint she might’ve hung onto until now is gone, because she’s writhing underneath him, her hips pushing forward to meet his with sharp little groans. She can feel the heat radiating off his body, his hitched breaths and muffled grunts as he pulls back only to snap his hips back against hers. Her head tips back against the pillow and his teeth drag along her throat, sucking at the skin hard enough to bruise, and Jesus Christ, it’s good, it’s impossibly good, and she’s so preoccupied with the way she fucking throbs around him that it’s easy to forget it’s just a simulation.
The dam’s been broken now, and she’s mumbling a steady stream of words mixed in with senseless murmurs, punctuated here and there with a keen moan. Honestly, it’s a miracle she’s been so quiet up till now, vocal as she usually is, but either the stunned shock of the mere idea has worn off by now or she’s just too wrapped up in it to think about it, because even as she feels Delta, the simulation, whatever -- even as she feels his lips press against hers, tongue tracing along the edge of her teeth, she can’t keep her fucking mouth shut.
But Delta makes no move to quiet her -- there’s no gently reproachful buzz in the back of her mind, and though she feels him kissing her, crushing his mouth to hers with heavy breaths as he buries his cock inside her, there’s nothing quieting about it, only vaguely encouraging.
And that’s when York feels it -- somewhere between the searing pressure of his cock, thrusting into her cunt, and the feel of his hand tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck, she feels it. It’s so easy to miss, to lose it in the rush of heat roaring not just through her body but through her mind, but it’s unmistakably there. There’s a certain weight to every swell of sensation that wells up in her chest, nebulous and almost unquantifiable, something that hadn’t been there before. She reaches out with her mind in fractured thoughts only managed in between sharp gasps and she feels a familiar prickling in return -- there’s a second layer, somehow, to Delta’s pleased humming sounding all around her mind, and there’s a tone of bewilderment to the next groan York lets out.
D, what --
He picks up on the sentiment behind her inchoate thought before she can even think to articulate it, and though the words come from within her mind, she swears can feel him mouth them against her skin as he drags his lips over her jaw.
I am merely attempting to feel what you feel, he says, and there’s a twinge to his voice, a quality of interest to it that York’s never quite heard before. I am not equipped to experience such sensations myself, but I can, as you might say, come along for the ride.
York almost lets out a breathless laugh because god, of course Delta would do something like this, piggyback along on her arousal just to get even a taste of what that might be like. And for the first time she feels the incentive to make this good for Delta, too -- but the moment the thought crosses her mind, there’s a reassuring murmur overlaid to the constant quiet whirring, as if to say wordlessly that it’s already good.
Delta doesn’t so much recede back into her mind as he does melt into it. It’s as though he’s winding himself around her consciousness, like the arms wound around her neck, and there’s a level sort of comfort to it, like the sound of sheets rustling against skin, and York realizes suddenly how deep it goes and she wonders how it is that she’s never quite seen it there before.
But it’s hard to focus on that, on just that, when the simulation’s never stopped, never even slowed down. The thick, aching heat of his cock pushing into her, the pace picking up just enough so that his hips snap against hers with every thrust -- it’s searing, spreading across her mind like a wildfire until she’s damn near overwhelmed by it. She feels hot arousal jump into her chest in time to the rhythm, licking up her spine like flames, and it’s all she can do to grasp at a fistful of sheets, to keep from digging her fingernails into skin that isn’t even really there.
It seems like just a trick of her mind, but she swears she can hear his heated breathing mixed in with hers, just below the mumbled words of encouragement that York can’t quite stop. There’s something hurried, almost frenzied, about the way he grabs at her, drags his teeth over her bottom lip, all in ways that make York’s stomach dance with heat. She almost voices a complaint when he shifts just enough to lift his body away from hers, but it dies in her throat as he slides a hand between them, two fingers pressing tight against her clit, and holy mother of god it’s good, it’s way too good, and York tries to clench her teeth before that sharp yelp of a groan jumps from her throat, but --
“Fuck -- D -- ”
The words come out rasped, strained, and York arches right off the bed as her whole body goes taut, spasming tightly around the cock she can feel inside her. There’s that temporary loss of any sense of where she is that always comes with the shock of orgasm, even just for a second, and she clenches a fistful of sheets tightly in one hand, the other grabbing onto her pillow. She feels his hips rock against hers, fucking her through her orgasm with his cock buried inside her, until her body, still buzzing with heat and excitement, relaxes against the bed, and York tries to catch her breath again.
Her eyes are still closed, but she feels the simulation slowly, quietly fading away, the heat over and around her receding as she sinks back down into the mattress, remembering with a dim jolt that she’s physically alone here and somehow, fully clothed. Her skin is sticky with a thin sheen of sweat, though, and when she shifts on the bed, she feels the damp fabric of her underwear rub against her skin. And as her mind starts to come down from the high, the first complete thought that enters her mind is oh my god did I just have sex with my AI?
She lets out an explosive breath as she opens her eyes, staring up through the dark at the ceiling. There’s a pleased, satisfied quality to Delta’s ever-present, quiet humming in the back of her mind, one that she can’t possibly ignore, and a little bit of warmth spreads in her chest at the thought. The depth of it sets her skin to prickling.
You seem to have enjoyed the simulation, Delta observes, and though his tone is polite, York’s known him far too long not to catch the smug undertone to his voice. She huffs out a little breath, not quite a snort, her hand rubbing lightly over her stomach. The simulation’s over, but she’d been so entrenched in it, the lack of the weight and warmth of another body against hers is a little jarring.
“Yeah, that’s a word for it,” York mutters, and her voice comes out dry, a little hoarse. She coughs, tries to clear her throat, and she just stares up at the ceiling as she tries to let the enormity of what’s just happened settle into her chest. They’ve been together a long time, York and Delta, and she knows he hadn’t just offered that up lightly. Not with how evident it was how much time he’d spent on it. She licks at her lips, finding them surprisingly dry, and tries to turn the thought over in her mind.
Delta’s presence takes on a note of concern, however faint. York, you seem displeased despite the sexual gratification you undoubtedly received. Are you having...regrets?
The question makes York’s stomach go a little cold, and she frowns, shaking her head against the pillow. “What -- aw, c’mon, man. That’s not it.” She lets out a little sigh, quiet and sleepy, and reaches for the comforter that’s bunched up at the foot of the bed, dragging it over her. She’s suddenly chilly. “It’s just -- you’ve gotta admit it’s a little weird, right? I mean -- I didn’t even know you -- y’know.”
York gestures limply with one hand into the empty air, then lets her arm fall against the bed, her wrist hanging off the edge of the mattress. This wasn’t ever the sort of conversation she’d been expecting to have with Delta, of all people.
Your needs were not being adequately attended to. It seemed appropriate to help.
“Oh, don’t you try to bullshit me, D. That wasn’t just about giving me a helping hand.” York lets out a quiet snort, rolling her eyes up at the ceiling. She knows that tone to Delta’s voice, knows there’s something he’s not saying, but it’s a moot point. It’d be impossible not to notice, not when they’ve been together for so long. “That wasn’t just some kinda porn simulation. That was you.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation, just long enough for York to feel it. Yes.
“Thought so,” York says, though the remark doesn’t have the usual smugness to it. She feels like she’s been thrown for a real loop here. “But, man -- where’d all this come from, anyway? I mean, I didn’t even know AI could have those kinda feelings.”
York, if I may remind you, human beings are not the only entities capable of learning new behaviors. My capacity may be somewhat limited in relation to yours, but that is because the majority of my processing power is devoted to performing the kind of mathematical calculations of which you are incapable.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, you make the rest of us look like highly intelligent bricks by comparison. Wasn’t calling your ability into dispute, D.” York reaches up to brush away a piece of hair that had matted to her forehead with sweat, exhaling slowly as she draws the comforter up around her. “Just tryin’ to figure out where all this came from, is all.”
I think you would agree that our relationship has evolved over time, Delta says patiently. If I may be frank, I did not like you at first. I found you excessively stubborn, and your abilities as demonstrated to me were well below what I was expecting. I was confused as to the logic of my assignment.
“Always nice to hear an honest thought from you, D.”
However, my sentiments have since changed, as, I know, have yours, he continues, undaunted by York’s remark. The relationship that we share has grown beyond means of quantification. You have said that your need for companionship is satisfied by my presence. I feel much the same way. This merely seemed like the next logical progression of our relationship.
“You thought that offering to have sex with me via highly sophisticated simulation mindfuck was the next logical step in our relationship?”
In a manner of speaking, yes. I am well aware of the situation we are in, and the difficulties it causes you in establishing any kind of social network. And yet, you rarely seem to feel lonely. Your companionship is very important to me. Although circumstances since my implantation have changed drastically, I am content with the current state of affairs. Given the choice, I would prefer to stay with you, York.
“Hey, hey. This conversation isn’t an eviction notice, buddy. I’m just trying to catch up, make sure we’re on the same page here.” York’s smiling, though, just a small quirk of her lips against the dark of the room, and Delta’s words inspire a little bit of warmth to blossom in her chest. “Besides, you hear me complainin’? Now, c’mon, be straight with me -- how long’s this been goin’ on, D?”
For some time, Delta admits.
“See, I knew you were holdin’ out on me,” York says, and there’s just the hint of a wicked grin to her voice. She lets herself stretch out on the bed, folding her hands underneath her head. “There was no way you just threw that together on a whim. You put some serious time into that. Am I right?”
And that makes a difference?
“‘Course it does. There’s intent behind it, D. Intent is -- well, it’s not everything, but it’s something.” York can’t keep the little smile off her face, content and oddly satisfied, even as she stares up at the empty ceiling, her feet tucked under the comforter. “You just wanted to do something for me. Something personal. Something nobody else could.”
There’s a beat, a pause, and York feels a mental flicker, something quiet and hesitant. Yes. That is an accurate summation of my intent.
York lets out a breath of a laugh, rolling over onto her side, and she grabs a wad of comforter to throw her arms around. The soothing heat of Delta’s simulated body is gone, but York feels warm inside, comfortable. “I’m lucky to have you, you know that? I mean it, D. Sure, you’re a pain in my ass sometimes, but I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better partner. Wouldn’t give you up for the world, man.”
The feeling is mutual. I am merely glad that I was able to help. Despite the understated quality to his words, York can feel Delta’s pleased humming, the way it unfolds into something closer to elation that envelops her mind like a warm glow. Almost slyly, he adds, Should I index that as an indication of a desire for a repeat experience?
“Yeah, you better,” York snorts, drawing her arms a little more tightly around the bunch of comforter pressed up to her chest. This is fifteen different kinds of just plain weird, she knows, but at the same time, she can’t bring herself to find fault with the pleasant warmth in her chest. York had given up any hope of leading a normal life a long time ago, and she knows he’s not going anywhere. She can trust Delta, but more than anything, she’d long since become comfortable with the notion of spending the rest of her life with Delta. She’s always known he’d always be there.
“Thanks, D,” York murmurs, settling just a little more heavily into the bed. Even if it’d just been a simulation, she finds herself spent all the same. She feels content, in a way she hasn’t in months. She inhales the dusty scent of the comforter, half-expecting to catch the scent of someone else’s skin. She lets her eyes slip closed with a soft breath. “Couldn’t ask you for more.”
York’s breathing is starting to slow, the lines of tension eased out of her body, and the distant sounds of the city outside her window fade away as she tunes them out, lulled into restfulness by Delta’s warm presence in her mind. I am here to assist, Delta says with a wry touch to his voice, and York huffs out a soft breath of a laugh. She’s never been quite alone out here, not with Delta along for the ride, but this is a whole new level of closeness. York can’t bring herself to object, though, and as she drifts off to sleep, she swears she feels the warmth of someone else’s body pressed up against hers, an arm curled around her waist, Delta’s hum in the back of her mind just a little louder than usual.