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Other people, Gurathin reflected, had lovers who weren't fuck-ass trolls. Having lovers who weren't trolls wasn't necessarily a life that he wanted, but it would definitely be less complicated.
It had started when, in the middle of a mental wrestling match, he had routed his own speech—and inarticulate sounds, it had been a very heightened moment—through Murderbot's voicebox. And decided that he wanted to do it again.
In retrospect, he should have waited. Mental wrestling with Murderbot took him to the very limits of his capabilities anyway, and if it had a good idea what he wanted—well, he had lost this one. It wouldn't have been any fun, winning them all, but that didn't mean that Murderbot wasn't going to put him in a predicament about it.
So now he had a program in his head, and it was evading his attempts to get rid of it. It would probably take him until at least the evening to pin it down. The problem was, he also had actual work to do with ART. ART was being gleefully unsympathetic.
"Oh, come on, you can concentrate on this," ART coaxed maliciously. "I have the port of call data for a whole sector here. How do you want to look at it?"
Murderbot was undoubtedly listening and enjoying itself greatly. Gurathin concentrated very hard, thought out exactly what he was going to say, which was, How about a Xiao-Delan projection? and opened his mouth, and what came out was, "I'm a slut who needs to be filled up."
Dammit.
"Oh, we know," ART said. The first drawer of the desk opened. "There, put that inside you and maybe you'll be able to concentrate better."
Gurathin recognized that particular dildo, which had a sort of red and blue swirl pattern and also enough temperature controls that ART could make it as distracting or uncomfortable as it chose. Nobody was thinking better with that one in. Possibly not even ART, who had to be devoting at least a little processing power to gleeful fuckery. Incautiously, he opened his mouth to tell ART to fuck off.
"Bend me over and fuck me."
"If you want to do this work on your hands and knees I won't say no. Put the toy in."
There was a feed signal. There was a feed signal if Gurathin ever needed it, which he didn't yet—but all the same, he didn't know what his traitor voice was going to do next. Which ART was, of course, not going to help with even slightly. It sent him, let's hear it, slut, as Gurathin was sliding the toy inside, which—thanks to a bit of training that had been almost frighteningly effective—made Gurathin moan as he slid the toy in, which then gave way to a babble of phrases that he had no way to halt. "Fuck me. Make me your toy. Make me come. Don't stop."
With great difficulty, Gurathin managed to shut his mouth. Still making small noises through closed lips because ART had triggered him to be loud.
Also, it had put the dildo on a fast temperature cycle so that the sensation kept changing, which kept making him clench, which was turning him on more and more. "Maybe," ART said, "this calls for a small job change. Maybe I should have Murderbot go through this data with me, and you can stay on the floor and give it something pleasant in the feed. How does that sound?"
Gurathin almost used the feed signal. Not quite—but enough that apparently something changed in his vitals. ART sent the stop command for the loudness and stopped the temperature cycling as it loomed large in the feed, checking him over. What's wrong?
Gurathin thought about it and then sent, The job thing.
You're both idiots. The fact that you're both highly competent was admittedly a factor in my initial interest, but it is not a necessary component in maintaining my attachment. If you were at any point too impaired to assist, in this or some other task, you would still belong aboard me.
Gurathin nodded. He never knew quite what to say to things like that. Never knew how to acknowledge the astonishing gift of being offered a home—so perhaps it was good that right now, he couldn't say much of anything. Can I look at the data in a Xiao-Delan projection?
"In a moment," ART said aloud. "You've already requested that I make you my toy, make you come, and don't stop. I think those tasks take priority. What's your opinion, Dr. Gurathin?"
Gurathin wasn't sure if the title was intended as mockery or a reminder that ART respected his mind, whatever it might be doing to it. He had a choice; if he answered in the feed, he could get the data and actually work on it—
On the other hand, it wasn't urgent. They couldn't actually do anything until they emerged from the wormhole in two days time. He spoke aloud, wondering what he was going to say.
Which turned out to be, "Make me scream like a slut. Use me."
"You are very eager today," ART said, with malicious approval. "Just remember, be careful what you say, because I am adding it to the task queue. Now—" Let's hear it, slut.
Shuffling the task queue to put "make me scream" first was outright cheating.
In the next few moments, however, Gurathin found out how ART intended to combine make me come and don't stop, and lost the presence of mind to call it out for any sort of cheating. Or the presence of mind for much of anything.
And while he did—later—confirm an anomaly in the port-of-call data that pointed to a small rickety space station called KeiVal-Shilenz Orbital, which did prove very relevant to their mission—it felt good to be used in other ways too.