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At the Controls

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The nice thing about his girlfriend's mind inhabiting the Normandy is that they can be absolutely sure that their first forays into fucking are guaranteed to be free of any unannounced and unwanted visitors, as EDI can easily keep the rest of the crew out of the ship while they're on shore leave at the Citadel. And THAT means they can be terrible, and choose to have those fucking forays while he's seated in an otherwise public location. He's certainly not complaining. Joker thinks it's more than a little fitting to start this while he's in the pilot's chair.

EDI is kneeling between his boxer-clad legs. Joker’s breathing gets heavier as she kisses her way up, starting, adorably, with the tips of his toes.

He thought he would be a little more apprehensive about letting a robot built for militarized combat handle his more, ah, delicate equipment, but they’ve talked at length about safety concerns, his brittle bones being what they are. EDI went as far as to invent new subroutines for increased touch sensitivity and sophisticated motor control to avoid using unnecessary force with him, because she is brilliant and amazing, and because she cares.

Which is what it comes down to, in the end. It’s not a militarized robot infiltration unit putting its hands on him. She's EDI.

And EDI is nothing if not thorough. She is slow, teasing, alternating soft kisses and the scrape of teeth on his calves, his kneecaps, his thighs. Her hands explore him, squeezing the muscles of his legs with undisguised appreciation. Her eyes are on his near-constantly, drinking in his reactions. If there is a tinge of fascination to her gaze that he's never seen in a human, a certain synthetic intelligence behind the eyes that says she is cataloguing his every twitch with an efficiency that someone organic would not be able to replicate, he doesn't mind. She's been watching a lot of vids, he can tell, and the thought of her doing research thinking of him, wanting to please him sends a bolt of pleasure from his brain straight to his dick.

One hand fists the edge of his seat with delicious impatience while the other strokes the cool metal of her hair, touching but not guiding. He's letting her take her time with him, though he fidgets where he sits, making small noises of gratification, alternately exhaling, slow and admiring, and catching his breath.

She has learned, though many hours spent interacting with him and the rest of the crew, how to be playful, and she's gotten far too good at it. By the time she's hinting that she might be ready to start touching him directly, his cock is rock-hard and straining with almost shameful eagerness against his boxers. Her kisses and the bite of her teeth trace the lines of his hips, so close but not yet exactly where he wants her. Then, drawing back to better observe, one hand supporting her chin in a scrupulous reproduction of human consideration, she draws a single finger down the length of his cock. The small noise he can't help but make is edging dangerously towards being feasibly categorized as a 'whimper.'

EDI has not yet mastered the full range of human facial expression, but her smile is a shade away from a smirk. Her hands return to exploring him, but get no closer to removing his last shred of clothing. She seems to be waiting for something.

Does she want him to beg? He doesn't want to rush her, but if she wants him to beg, he'll fucking beg.

When she starts delicately brushing his dick through his boxers with teasing touches, he realizes he is probably going to start begging whether she wants him to or not. He squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back as she drags a finger down his cock again, this time even gentler than before. Patience. Patience...

She repeats the move, and his eyes snap open as he jerks his head forward to stare helplessly down at her. He chokes out a breathless "Please."

She near-smirks again and gracefully begins to divest him of the last of his clothing, sure to skim his body with appreciation again as she drags his boxers down and free of his legs. She tosses them heedlessly over her shoulder and they land with almost poetic justice over one of the monitors above the ship's controls. The thought that she was waiting for him to beg is far more gratifying than he would have anticipated.

Completely naked in the pilot's chair, a new sense of vulnerability grips his chest as she looks at all of him. To his surprise, he can feel his cheeks burning, almost bashful about being naked in front of someone for the first time in ages, and hopes she likes what she sees. Like most other human beings, he's a bit insecure about his body, in particular the slight pudge to his stomach (he sits in a captain's chair all day, after all) and the size of his dick. He's pretty thick, if he does say so himself, but shorter than average, and any reassurances on the part of past lovers don't really help him when he realizes she has probably seen quite the range of monster cocks on the extranet.

She says nothing and keeps looking at him. It happens pretty often, so he should be used to it, but her inaction and open stare unnerves him after one too many moments. She catches his questioning look, verging on self-conscious panic, and puts a hand on his thigh comfortingly.

"You are beautiful," she tells him.

The burn in his cheeks intensifies. Luckily, he is spared having to formulate a response by her following up such a gentle statement with a far less gentle grab of his cock.

"AGH-"

She pulls her hand back as if burned, his exclamation being one of discomfort rather than pleasure. Before she can speak he is already cupping her face, smiling through a wince.

"It's okay," he says. "Just a little too rough. You're doing great, though. More than gre- ah..."

She's grabbed his cock again, gentler this time, slowly sliding her hand up the length of him and finishing with a twist around his head that is surprisingly deft for a beginner. If there was any blood left in Joker's brain that hadn't gone south a minute ago, there certainly wasn't now.

She builds up a rhythm with one hand, watching him to see which strokes work best, massaging the inside of his thigh with the other. She learns how to please him quickly, like she learns everything, and is soon double-handing his cock like a pro, twisting her hands to add to the sensation, slowing until he is begging with his eyes and then speeding up until he grits his teeth, throws his head back and grips the sides of his chair.

When he collects himself enough to look down at her again, making pleading noises he would find embarrassing under any other circumstances, he can see with a small amount of wonder that she's enjoying herself. His reactions please her, his body pleases her, and she seems quite overjoyed with being able to control his body so easily. He guesses it's in part because this is the first time she's piloted him instead of the other way around.

He has to stop her hands several times lest he come too soon and end an experience he wishes very much to prolong, and in the downtime she returns to the rest of his body, seeing which touches make him sigh and which make his eyebrows draw together and which make him laugh and squirm. He tries to touch her, but she slaps his hands away, gifting him with that self-satisfied near-smirk so he knows it's part of the game and not real irritation. She's really enjoying having the run of his body and the more he thinks about it the more certain he is that he's not going to last much longer, and before that happens, fuck, he wants her mouth on him.

She knows all too well what he wants, and is teasing him again, mercilessly. She keeps parting her lips and lowering her mouth towards his cock only to draw back and tilt her head mockingly. Her touches grow lighter and less satisfying, her soft caresses replaced by the pleasant burn of being scratched. He withstands the teasing with as much poise as he can manage, both pleased and tormented by the fact that he is eventually going to get what he wants, but only when she decides. As time goes on, though, "as much poise as he can manage" soon becomes shameless squirming and gasping and wondering if she needs him to beg again. Does she want him on his knees? He'll get on his knees. He'll do anything.

He can see intent in her eyes. She's about to say something extraordinarily sexy and blow his mind again, he just knows it.

She parts full lips, opens her mouth-

"I have compiled three point seven billion extranet articles on the preferred techniques for human fellatio... baby."

There is a beat of silence. He tries his best not to laugh. He doesn't want to offend, especially now. "...uh, EDI..."

Her eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, a visual emotional display equivalent to a human looking 'stricken.' "Was that not.. sexy? Am I not desirable?"

His heart constricts painfully, and he rushes to reassure her. "Oh, EDI, no, you're perfect-"

He pauses, narrows his eyes. She is smiling at him.

"That was a joke."