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3 wants to try something.
This should have been the first red flag. I mean, it was the first red flag, I've known ART long enough to know what that tone of voice means and I've known Three long enough that it wanting to "try something" usually means I'm going to end up in some kind of fucking… scenario. I probably should have said no, but. I don't know.
Sometimes it was kind of fun to try something.
Which is why I'm currently on my back on the floor of Three's cabin—or more accurately, I'm on my shoulders on the floor of Three's cabin as it pushes my knees over my head. I'm not describing this well, but it's pinning me down while contorting me like one of those bready twisty things humans eat, is the point. If I were human, this would be compressing my lungs and making it hard to breathe, and probably hurting my neck. Luckily, I'm not human.
Three's hands are clasped together, its arms wrapped around my thighs, and it presses its weight down against me even more.
Yield? It asks in the connection that's open between it, me, and ART.
Absolutely not, ART says snobbily.
Right, so, I'm here, but I'm not in control of my body. We've been doing this thing where ART will basically puppet one of us around while we take a backseat to the whole "having a body" thing. It was incredibly fucking funny the first few times, because ART never had to maneuver organic tissue before, and there were a lot of little moments that I saved to permanent storage for the next time I needed blackmail material.
(ART thought the best activity to start with would be opening up one of its drones. Nice and simple, right? It didn't realize that fine motor control was way harder when there weren't as many literal motors. A still image of the look on ART-Three's face after it dropped the screwdriver for the eighth time was pinned to my private connection with ART for a month or so.)
It's gotten much better at puppetting us—
Piloting you.
—PUPPETTING US, but it's still not great. Which is why it is where it is: in an easy-to-escape hold that would have been pretty easy to avoid getting caught in as well.
Then get out of it.
It dumps me back into my body in the most assholish way possible, and okay, back in the pilot's seat, this sucks, but I can definitely get out. I unclench my hands from where ART balled them into Three's pants and twist myself beneath it until I can hook an arm behind its thigh. Its eyes widen fractionally in recognition, but it's too late. I use my hips and legs to drive against it and with its leg trapped, it goes down easily.
The scramble that follows is brief, but I end up on top of it, my knees on either side of its hips and my hands on its biceps.
That was unfair, Three says. It's warm beneath me where our bodies are pressed together.
You shouldn't have let your guard down, I say back, because it shouldn't have. Before I can do anything else, ART is crowding back in, pushing me out of the way and taking control of my body again. Fucker.
Stop complaining. We're approaching the part you don't like.
Three must notice the way my body's overall… body-ness shifts, because it quickly swims its arms free of my hands and wraps its bicep around the back of my head. ART isn't quick enough to evade this, and my face ends up pressed against Three's chest. It's a little bulkier than I am, and there's some give in its organic skin that I can't feel with ART in control, but I can imagine. (Ratthi once described Three as "looking like it gave good hugs". I don't really like hugs, but Three is a lot touchier than I am, so I've had to give it mission-critical hugs before. I guess they're not awful.)
With my head pinned, it snakes its other arm around to cup my tricep. I know where this is going, and maybe ART does too, because it hooks my foot around Three's calf.
You need more weight in my hips, I tell it, but Three has already kicked its leg free and before ART has time to react, it's thrusting its hips up and to the side in one explosive motion that tips my body over easily. We land with me on my back (again) and Three's chest pressed to mine. Its respiration rate is slightly elevated, and there is a slight flush to its cheeks. It looks at one of my drones and smiles.
(Smiling makes its entire face light up, which is a phrase I've read in books but never really knew what that meant. I get it now, but I'm not sure I can put it into words. I guess it's something about the way the smile is in the eyes and not just the muscles around the mouth. I've seen it on human faces, but seeing it on a construct is… yeah. Emotion-inducing if I think about it too much.)
Watch out for my arms, I warn ART, and it pulls my elbows in as tight to my chest as possible with Three laying on me. The pressure is probably kind of nice.
It would be nice if your chest wasn't being compressed, ART complains. How do I get out of this?
Before I can answer, Three is driving its knee across my abdomen and now it's in the position that ART just lost: straddling my hips, pinning me down, still grinning.
Yield? it asks, but it knows the answer.
Watch my fucking arms, I tell ART again, because Three is sitting up fully, using its legs to ride out ART's clumsy attempts at bucking it off. I know from experience that it likes to spring traps from this position, and I'm going to be incredibly pissed off if ART gets my shoulder dislocated. Again.
Instead of listening to me and doing the sensible thing, it reaches my left hand up to grip the collar of Three's shirt. Three doesn't move to stop it, and just… lets it happen. Okay, we're officially at the part I don't like. Ugh.
ART jerks Three's collar as hard as it can, and even though Three could easily stay upright and just let its shirt rip, it goes down with the tug. Once it's in range, ART is using my hands to guide Three's face closer until its lips are pressed against mine. Three makes a happy little noise against my mouth, and braces its forearms on either side of my head. I can't feel the sensation of its mouth on mine, which is honestly preferable. It's not a bad feeling when it's dry, but as soon as tongues come into the picture, the sensation is too much for me. Even though SecUnits have less saliva than humans (file that under "facts that I hate that I know"), it's still wet and slimy and bad. But ART and Three both like it, and as long as I can't feel it, I guess it's fine.
One of the reasons that ART wanted to try this in the first place, this piloting/puppetting/whatever thing was because it wanted to know what kissing felt like. We tried having it ride my sensory outputs while I kissed Three, but I just wasn't as into it as ART "needed" for its "data collection", and like I said, the tongue stuff was a non-starter.
(Yes, I did try it. No, I do not want to repeat the experience.)
I don't know why it's different when ART is in control of my body. Maybe because I can opt out of the sensory part of the experience. Maybe because I don't have to be an active participant in whatever gross organic thing is happening. Maybe because it lets me do something for ART and something for Three that I wouldn't be able to do for them otherwise. Maybe because sometimes, in very rare and controlled circumstances, it's nice to just… let go.
You are thinking too loudly, ART says. It says this while it is pushing my tongue into Three's mouth, and the wet sounds and soft noises make me want to sever the audio connection.
Don't antagonize it, Three chides, feed voice a little shaky.
Yeah, ART. Don't antagonize me, I say in my most antagonistic voice, but it ignores me in favor of tangling my fingers into Three's hair (not as long as mine, but longer than it used to be) and pulling until Three whimpers and rolls its hips down against my abdomen. ART may not be good at sparring, but it has a lot of these smaller movements down. I guess that's the benefit of regular practice.
I'm not going to let it get away with ignoring me, though. It's sitting squarely in my neural connections to the feed, crowding itself into me in a way that I was honestly kind of worried might break something the first few times we did it, but this is my body. I start to make my way quietly towards my tactile output controls while ART is using its grip on Three's hair to tilt its head enough to get at its neck. Three is going along with it happily, not putting up any kind of a fight as my teeth dig into its throat. Okay, that's new in a way I'm not sure about. I stop moving.
Be careful, I tell ART, definitely not a little panicked at the mental image of my jaw snapping shut and—
I have placed a manual limit on the pressure that your jaw is able to exert, it says, not unkindly. I would not even be able to break the skin.
I helped it d-determine the ap-p-propriate limits, Three adds helpfully even as its back is arching. (I tactfully ignore the glitching.)
Anticipating that I'll want to check for myself, ART is already pushing the jaw pressure settings towards me and yeah, okay, I feel a little better about this, so I take a millisecond to gauge how much attention ART is paying to me (answer: not enough to stop me) and slip quickly into my tactile output. And I turn off all sensation to my body's legs.
For fuck's sake— ART must be able to feel them go numb immediately, because its presence is expanding inside of me, reaching for me, reaching for what I've disconnected, but like I said: This is my body. I already have walls in place to slow it down, and I'm shoring up my defenses as it tries to brute-force its way through my code. We've done this kind of exercise before, and I usually don't manage to hold out for very long. ART is just so big and powerful.
But ART is also not usually puppetting my body and pinned underneath a SecUnit that is taking advantage of its distraction to mouth at my neck, so. It's limited by my processing power and by my stupid corporeal body, and Three is doing a great job disadvantaging it further. I hope it also set a manual limit for its jaw pressure.
It did, ART says, feed voice crackling slightly. Now get out of there.
Get out of where? It's my body, asshole. I throw a small code attack at it that manages to confound it for 0.7 seconds, then it shreds two of my walls in quick succession. One of my legs spasms.
Three doesn't say anything, but it is also busy biting my shoulder and rutting against my hip. I think that if I was in control of my body, I would hate this. If I had to feel it touching me and… using me like that. But for reasons I don't understand and don't really want to investigate, I don't mind it when I get to just watch.
…okay, watch and make ART's life harder. I cede control of the left leg, but double down on keeping the right one inert. My mouth is making some kind of sound that it's never made with me in charge, something breathy-frustrated-overwhelmed. I've definitely made those kinds of noises separately, but not combined like this. It's weird. It distracts me for just long enough for ART to slam through my last wall and make me retreat to my right arm's tactile controls. I send a bright burst of nerve activation through it, and my mouth makes a noise I don't really want to dwell on. Three makes an answering sound, and its movements are getting rougher and less coordinated.
(I don't understand why, whether it was a manufacturing defect or a purposeful decision or just random chance, but Three has sensation in its null plate. I really try not to be an asshole about it, but I am so fucking glad that none of those nerves are present/functional in my body. ART was a little disappointed to find out I don't have any sensation down there, but: 1. It can puppet Three around if it wants to feel those nerve endings, and 2. Three has created a variety of sensory files that it can share with ART to replicate the feeling(s).)
Three has shoved itself upright, hands planted on my chest and hips rolling small, tight circles against the front portion of my pelvic plate. Its feed presence is bright and flickering. ART has regained control of my legs and I can feel a small pulse of its alarm as it realizes how close Three is to—ugh, finishing.
Wait, it says, we discussed—
Three pings it an acknowledgment and reaches behind itself to hoist my right leg up, bringing it under its arm until my inorganic calf on its shoulder. Then it—oh. It slides its left leg between mine and presses our null plates together. It makes a noise like it just got the wind knocked out of it, and ART uses my mouth to yet again make a sound that I don't want to think about. Three is gripping my leg and using its powerful thighs to drive its hips down against mine, and I can feel ART's feed presence heating up and sparking. It is fumbling through the sensory files from Three as Three grinds its null against mine, and I can feel ART's relief when it finds the file it was looking for.
Not so fast. I lock the file just before ART can open it, and it drops a string of expletives I've never even heard before.
Three's hips are still moving as it says, glitchy but incredulous, Was that a-ancient Pes-s-s-oan-n?
You are a wretched little construct, ART whines. And I am not whining.
It's an easy passcode to crack. You don't think you can do it?
Fuck you. It sounds furious, which is exactly what I was going for.
No thanks.
It takes ART nearly 2 entire seconds to unlock the file, which must have been excruciating for it. Three hasn't let up, and its movements are so desperate and choppy that it has to be close (ugh). I can't feel what it's doing, but based on the pressure readings I can pull from my diagnostics, I'm a little worried it's going to bruise my pelvic plate.
As it tears open the file, ART says spitefully, I hope it does.
Then it runs it, and my entire body spasms. In the feed, ART goes white-hot and shimmering as it loops the sensation file from Three again and again. I can feel Three through our connection, too, and it's shaky and still throwing minor glitches. I could slip into ART's code and feel what it's using my body to feel. I could slip into ART's code and delete the file and leave it furious and needy and stupid with—yeah. It's tempting, but I had my fun.
(And not that it's anybody's business, but. I like getting to see/hear ART like this. And Three. It's something that belongs just to us. Even if I'm not an active participant, even if I'm just… hovering off to the side. I don't hate being here for this kind of thing.)
Three is no longer moving against me other than shuddering jerks of its hips. Its fingers are digging into my thigh hard enough that I'll probably have fingertip-sized bruises. Its lips are parted and it's making embarrassing little ah-ah-ah noises out loud as it makes even worse noises over the feed. I'm deleting the memory of the audio output from my own mouth as quickly as I'm hearing it, and ART isn't really making any noise in the feed but it's so, so bright.
When it finally terminates the code, its feed presence slumps down onto mine. It feels like being buried in a landslide made of sarcasm.
A sarcasmslide, Three supplies as it flops onto the floor next to my body.
That's nothing, I tell it.
It reaches out and pinches my hip, which I don't feel but ART does. My body flinches, and ART hisses, That was me, not it.
Three does the feed equivalent of shrugging before pulling my body into another long, slow kiss. There's less tongue than before, but still not zero tongue.
Your thoughts really are loud, Three says.
Fine. See if I let you assholes do this again.
ART's feed presence is still collapsed on top of mine, but it's not awful. It's brushing the very edges of my code with its own, more idle than anything and it's… nice.
Did you want anything? Three asks, because it knows how to be polite and not a giant asshole constantly.
Said constant giant asshole flicks my code in retribution as I say, No. I'm good.
And I am.