Archive of Our Own ^beta

The RK900 is relentless.

A sentence, that if spoken to anyone else, would have meant entirely different things. Its capabilities as a killing machine. Its efficiency as a super-computer. Its dogged determination and loyalty towards its mission, its objectives, its directives. The machinations of a machine designed for a task, built to obey–ruthless in approach, unwavering in attention, immovable in its coded obedience. Give it a room of obstacles and you would find everything inside demolished. Give it a problem, and it would destroy until it carved itself a solution. A ruthless machine, through and through–but you would be the first and only person to see its ruthlessness in a different light.

"Nin–Nines, I–"

Around him you stretch, accommodating his length as best as you can. Your hands uselessly paw at his chassis, digging against unrelenting steel. His hands forbid mercy; gripping your thighs to balance your weight with inhuman ease. Nines may not be doing anything but slowly forcing you down, but the distant awareness that he could just impale you does not escape your attention. It pulls a thread of thrill from you at the thought of his control, in spite of the ferocity of his expression.

"You will take it," Nines flatly intones, digging his fingers further into your hip in the promise of a blue-black threat. "Or are you so pathetic that this is beyond your ability?"

"Please, please," you beg, eyes burning with sweet tears that trickle down to your chin. "Fine–I–I'm pathetic, please I–"

Something cruel enters the glint of Nines' eyes. "And yet you think you're in the position to make demands.”

A strangled gasp bursts from your mouth when Nines forces you completely down onto his cock.

It had been fine earlier, in the after hours of the precinct after the rest of the department had left the both of you alone. Perfectly normal as it usually was for the two of you when you started mouthing off at the android, snide and snarky with the misconception that he would have done nothing in retaliation. All mundane and the usual as you leaned back in your chair after a sharp comment from Nines stirred the anger in your chest, your mouth automatically moving to spit something about how heartless and cold he was–nothing except just an unfeeling machine. Even when Nines grit his teeth and stood from his chair, it was well within the realm of the typical.

Unfeeling? Nines had repeated, walking over in that same stiff, rigid walk. You call me unfeeling?

That's what you are, after all, you unkindly said in return. He towered over you from where he stopped by your desk, uncaring of the physical boundaries supposed to be in-between. The intensity of his gaze slammed onto you full force, its brunt unsettling and stirring primal fear–but you only hated the way you crossed your legs at the sensation, trying to ignore the almost provocative flex of Nines' mechanical jaw as the android leaned in close.

You humans are so loud, Nines had said, tone settling back into its flat and monotonous cadence. Is that the problem, then? So absorbed in yourself that you cannot notice something quieter?

What are you going on about?

Nines looked at you. His gaze deliberately trailed from your face to your neck to your shoulders, dipping down to your chest and abdomen. Inhuman, robotic–with that alone you felt exposed underneath his scrutiny, hands curling in your lap as you fought to keep your back straightened and eyes forward.

His face was still impossibly impassive, aloof. But something rose in the intelligence behind his gray ocular units, and made itself known as Nines set a hand to your thigh.

There, his fingers pressed into your skin. Bruises promised to bloom even with the controlled strength he exerted.

The coil in your stomach tightened. A sinking feeling informed you that Nines didn’t need any scans to understand, exactly, how you felt about the situation.

Nines? Don’t short circuit on me.

You want to fuck me so badly that you fail to notice I want the very same thing, Detective.

“Nines–”

“Since you felt I was unfeeling, compensation is only necessary,” Nines mutters, lips curling around your ear. Your teeth catches along the ridges of his synthetic skin, near his throat, but he pays no mind to it as he continues to fuck into you with inhuman ease. “I feel a great deal of things, Detective. Many of them involve you.”

Now that pulls a moan out of you. Nines leans away only to crash his lips against your own, greedily chasing after your cries.

Soft, you think. For a killer machine.

“How… How so?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and you immediately know you’ve made a mistake in talking when his hands tighten their grip around you. In the next breath, you squirm around him as he slams deep inside–a satisfied grunt coming from him as he destroys whatever stability you’d managed to find to speak.

“I’ll show you,” Nines promises. “It’ll be very clear to you how I feel.”

. . .

It’s thankfully autumn. Detroit’s temperatures are cool enough that a scarf isn’t out of place, so you wear one to hide the mess of grays and blues along your neck. If anyone is suspicious of any fraternisation going on, the only candidate would be Connor whose eyes linger on your neck when you say good morning to him on your way in. It’s easy to pass off as him being unused to you wearing a scarf, at least until his eyes flit towards Nines and then back at you, his LED circling yellow. An unspoken question seems to arise in him, but lucky for you he appears to think better of it and shelves it away. For later, presumably, at a more opportune time.

Although your eyes are settled on criminal cases and unfinished reports, the events of last night tug at your attention. Nines looming over you against the desk, Nines’ staticky groans, Nines composure crumbling into wanton want while he fucked you again and again–fuck.

You shift your chair away to block out the right side of your desk, only to flinch at the all too familiar sight of a pristine white jacket.

“Your coffee, Detective.”

The aroma of coffee would usually have been enough to clear your mind, but the problem here was how Nines' fingers lingered for a second too long around the handle of the mug. An action you would have otherwise dismissed in anyone else except calculating, deliberate Nines. You purse your lips, trying to center yourself to no avail. The phantoms your mind conjured prior certainly do nothing to help your composure.

“T–Thanks.”

Nines looks at the scarf around your shoulders. For a second, his lips curl into a fraction of a smirk–a sight you know you only caught because he wanted you to. Your mouth opens to say something in fiery rebuttal, your footing shaky but still eager to try and wipe that smugness from his expression, but Nines is a step ahead.

You freeze when his hand comes to brush against your chest, adjusting your scarf.

“The temperature forecast today will be colder than usual. Good foresight, Detective,” Nines murmurs, audible only to you. Heat wells between your thighs as his voice dips into a lower register, his voice equally as intense as his gaze. “Unfortunate. There could have been other ways to keep you warm.”

“I still feel cold,” you dumbly say, thoughts rushing to catch up with the present moment. Nines lets go to keep his hands behind his back in a show of professionalism. “Any suggestions?”

“Your inefficiency last night means that there is evidence to review today. Meet me at the evidence locker at ten sharp,” Nines instructs, turning away to move to his desk.

Like an afterthought, Nines turns his head, steel stare fixed on the line of your throat where his marks lie brazenly on your skin. Then he looks up to your eyes, meets your nervous but eager gaze, and something soft flickers into his expression before disappearing back into machine stillness.

“Don’t be late, Detective. This case is one I’m eager to solve.”