Addicted to you

monsterfucker-mcgee:

Here’s something shamefully self-indulgent – I hope y’all like it! Trigger warnings for drugged sex, which I suppose is rape/non-con? Read at your own risk!

Ko-Fi | Commissions | AO3

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When he
hauls you in for a kiss, you know
something is wrong. RK900 doesn’t do kisses, let alone initiates them.

The kiss is
fierce, and his lips are warm and soft. Velvety, even.

You squirm
in his grip, but he’s infinitely much stronger than you. Possessing an inhuman
strength, it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to keep you still against
his sturdy, non-moving chest. Unlike the RK800 model Connor, RK900 doesn’t
simulating breathing to soothe his companions.

You want to
cuss him out, but you’re cleverer than that – you are not going to allow him
access to your mouth. Not more than he already got.

Butt even
his tongue is stronger than should be humanly possible, and he wrestles your
lips apart to push it into the cavity of your mouth. You’re mortified when you
can’t hold back a moan, and you struggle harder to get out of his grip.

It’s no
use, of course. He’s got you precisely where he wants – in a bar, full of
strangers. Humans and androids alike, the place is buzzing with sounds and
impressions that threaten to overwhelm you. Nobody notices the two of you –
after the revolution, android-human relationships aren’t uncommon.

His tongue
brushes against yours, and it’s so impossibly wet. It’s wetter than normal, and
for a second, you wonder about the reason why.

After a few
seconds, you feel your body getting heavy. Not quickly, not instantly, but
gradually, as he keeps kissing you, a hand firm on the back of your neck to
keep you in place.

“Oh,” you
whisper against his lips, and you can feel
the smug smile that curls onto his face. Your breathing turns deeper, and your
struggling to get free morphs into you struggling to hang onto him. He looks so
pleased with himself, thin lips twitching up into a smirk as he pulls back
slowly, ever so slowly. His eyes glisten in the rapidly flashing lights, and
you know that look. Predatory. Hungry. Intense. So intense you can feel it bore
into your soul.

“’Oh’
indeed, little you,” he murmurs and slides the hand from the back of your neck
to the small of your back, keeping you close to him at all times, “you’re not
looking well. May I suggest we take a cab home?”

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