datadiving | (no subject)

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Draped across the bed, bored out of his mind. Not the kind of situation Gabriel ever imagined he'd be in, at any point in his life, ever, but he could add that to the pile of new experiences he supposed. Yeah sure not all of them could be absolute bangers, life wasn't always going to be interesting, that much he'd learned long before everything fell apart but it felt almost insulting to be in another world, another time, and still be fucking bored. An old saying he'd heard a soul pass on to him once before rattled through his brain: boring people are bored, and he scowled at the memory, petulantly kicking a pillow off the bed.

Maybe he could go call on Cassiel. They could spar, or hunt, or talk, or fuck, or anything else, he didn't know. Anything was better than laying here doing fuck all.

The conspicuous lack of the Machine was as ever, not a concern either. Where was it? Well, outside somewhere of course, doing whatever. At this point he'd grown quite comfortable with its presence and conversely, lack of. Whatever trouble it could get itself into was at this point no longer his concern. ... A pleasant enough idea to hold onto at least. It did nothing for the boredom, other than alleviate some of the annoyance swirling around his head thanks to it.

... He really had to find some way to fill his day before he started taking this growing, foul mood out on someone who didn't deserve it, he hates this.

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Oh he knows that look, and he had to struggle not to keep pressing against it. No he would not make himself look ~~that~~ desperate, he'd wait.

He barely registered the smack, glaring back at it with the same exact energy. "Don't you look at me like that, I'm just saying." Noticeably, this attitude problem of his didn't seem to impact the color of the wings. He might have been annoyed, sure, but that wasn't about to change the fact that he was still very, very much invested in this.

The response it finally gave him was both at once not what he was expecting and everything he'd asked for. Hard to know what to expect though when you had no basis for comparison so maybe that went without saying.

Gabriel jerked, the hand still at it's hip dragging downwards over unyielding metal as he pawed desperately at it. Rolling up into it, a stuttering gasp followed by an extremely unbecoming whine followed its decision to press so hard against him, gold and pink rippling across the wings as they dipped into its hand.

"F-fuck! Ye-Yes that! Li-like that!" Oh look, he's suddenly not mad anymore, how about that.

INTERNAL NOTE: EFFECTIVE WAY TO MAKE ANGEL STOP BEING MAD (SITUATIONAL)

Well, Gabriel's not yelling at it any more, so further escalation of hostilities can be temporarily suspended. It grinds its lower body against Gabriel roughly, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck and raking its fingers down in one quick, violent motion. The other hand is still clamped firmly on Gabriel's throat; intermittently, randomly, it squeezes harder, forcing periods of breathlessness before it releases.

Its head swivels back and forth as it observes the consequences of its actions with rapt interest, feeling Gabriel's heart thumping through the thin plating of its chest, pressed together as they are. As if it too had a heartbeat. As if it, too, was a creature of flesh and blood.

(Not even mortal, Gabriel had said once, denounced it so once. This close, it wonders, has the space and fuel to even think, is this softness, this vulnerability, this ability to be undone in this way, is that what mortality means? But Gabriel isn't mortal - isn't human - so maybe this whole premise is flawed. It should throw it out and start again and attack the thought from another angle.

It resists the temptation to delete the entirely useless mental commentary of the last few seconds.)

It drinks in those responses meanwhile, truly and intensely pleased that something it's already really good at at can be applied to something else it doesn't have any experience with. It no longer feels like it's entirely out of its depth.

(Its own wings flicker with distorted color - some misfiring wiring that's never been replaced and it's honestly totally forgotten about, hooked up to respond to strong bursts of neurological activity. It doesn't notice.)

Edited 2025-06-30 10:47 (UTC)

Gabriel grimaces, his fingers scrambling for purchase on V1's thigh as it scrapes its fingers sharply down the back of his neck, gasping for air every time it loosens its grip on his neck. With an almost frantic note he met its movements against him, shaking as he pressed downwards and against it with shameless abandon. It'd be leaving marks, no doubt, welts where its fingers had dragged down his neck, light bruises where he'd demanded it grip his throat. The idea hardly bothered him, at least at the moment anyway. If anything, pondering on it only added to the fire, the idea of walking out of a bedroom with scrapes and bruises a little more exciting than he thought it would be.

It was rough, more so than anything he'd ever ask of Cassiel. The idea of requesting something like this from the other angel didn't sit well with him, not with the history the two of them shared. Though, to be fair, Gabriel hadn't even been wholly aware this would be something he'd enjoy, no one else had found themselves in a position quite like this with him before after all. And anyone else probably wouldn't have even been allowed the chance to try, if he had to think about it. What did that say, that he was more willing to let the Machine that could actually kill him wrap it's hands around his neck than any of the mortals here? Probably nothing healthy, he's not going to think about that actually.

He caught the way its wings flickered, finding himself strangely enamored at the thought. Or maybe it wasn't so odd, considering how the wall behind him was lit up in shades of cotton candy and gold.

"Fuck... Fuck." Not terribly eloquent like this at all, was he? Once more, he'd pull at it's hip, trying to angle himself just so against it. It just wasn't quite enough, he needed more actually.

The way Gabriel keeps tugging at it is bothering it now, mostly because he doesn't seem to be quite satisfied and this is now a puzzle to be solved.

GOING FOR THAT P-RANK?

INTERNAL COMMENTARY MARKED AS IRRELEVANT

Another flicker of its wing color, another irritable little twitch as it ponders this new problem of sorts. It doesn't actually know a lot about his anatomy, is the thing, and Gabriel is weirdly not being informative right now in favour of being noisy, and he's going to just be even more noisy but also mad if it stops to ask. It's perfectly happy to choke him and keep scraping at his back, he really likes that apparently, but there's something else he wants and isn't getting so it'll have to figure it out.

Fine, it'll have to get creative. It can get creative. It's getting creative right now, isn't it?

Neither of its two available arms are particularly good for blah blah flesh and blood are frailer than steel, but the Whiplash has more flexible fingers, and it doesn't need to use the launcher. It taps at a wing (weird colour now, what's that about, whatever, it'll look over the system logs later, not important) and draws out the revolver, glancing over to it long enough to be noticeable.

Yes, he knows he talked a big game about shit like communication and how it has to listen to him and 'flesh is frailer than steel' and so on and so forth but have you considered: talking hard. It was hard, it was really difficult to concentrate on words right now and it's hard to be a director when your brain is full of dopamine and all your nerves are going off at once.

He's trying though. "I just- You're close, it's... Hard to describe-" Yes he did see the body language, yes he did see the twitching of its wings. Gabriel is more than aware that he's failing on the chatter front, but most of the time his partners were just as caught up in the moment as he was, this is a little bit of a new situation alright?

The choice to grab a gun was uh-

"Whatareyoudoingwiththat." ANSWER HIM, MACHINE.

V1 very deliberately, perhaps exaggeratedly so, raises its hand so that Gabriel can see it hasn't got its finger on the trigger or anywhere close. It's opted to wrap its fingers around the handle instead.

It stays like that for a moment, and then quite deliberately shifts back so it's not totally pressed against him as it was before. The Whiplash tucks under their two active arms as they put the revolver muzzle down pointing towards the bed yes it understands gun safety between them.

The problem appears to be a lack of specific, directed friction, as far as it can tell. This is what it's got for a solution, by far the safest one given the Whiplash's grappling launcher and the Knuckleblaster's shotgun.

Well, it could swap its arms around, but despite everything it did listen to Gabriel's admonishments and it's trying, okay, it's not like it has experience with this either. Its usual arm has blunt fingers and no additional attachments, it's not trying to rip him apart and that's far easier with the other two extra arms it has.

Edited 2025-07-01 03:08 (UTC)

He's still trying to figure out how the gun even plays into this, unable to keep from side-eying the thing even as V1 lowers it to the bed.

"Are you... thinking about using that?" Not in the most orthodox way either, he's sure. How it intends on utilizing it is beyond him, but it's clearly trying to puzzle this whole matter out as best it can and to be fair; he hasn't exactly been the best at communicating so far. Is he going to accept blame for this?

Well. Not out loud.

"Alright, okay look- I... Here." It's a fucking robot, why is he so goddamn awkward about this? It wasn't like V1 cared one way or the other, he could be as crass as he liked! ... Maybe he's the problem.

Gabriel was by this point a bright, vibrant pink, thanks to the wings and just in general as he leaned back on the bed. He dragged his hand away from it, the motion distinctly hesitant, as he rested it on his lower belly. There, it'd slip downwards, his breath hitching as he pressed his middle finger against his clit. Shouldn't be this flustered about it-

"This is... part of what you should be paying attention to." In the most simplistic of terms of course, but it was an excellent place to start. "The majority of it is... it's internal, I don't expect-" Didn't expect it to have the means or desire to actually go that far for an orgasm. "As you can see there's other areas outside that work well in tandem with it." The words sort of jumbled together on that one, his fingers caressing over the top of that oversensitive little bud.

It was impossible to look away from it as he spoke, simultaneously it was so incredibly awkward to keep looking. It was hard to glean precisely what was going through the Machine's head after all, anyone else would have a proper expression to gauge.

Well obviously it wants to use it, why else would it have brought it out. It completely does not convey this in any way because now Gabriel is going to explain more things to it, sex sure is complicated for something that presumably feels good for him.

It sits back on its heels to give him room, letting him go completely for the moment. Its head moves, clearly tracking his motions, studying him intently with the focus it usually reserves for trying to not get murdered. Despite the lack of variation in staring, given it was never built to emote, there's a sense of familiarity about the look all the same - that sense of complete and utter attention.

It watches his hands mostly, flicking up its head occasionally to look at the way Gabriel flushes (INTERNAL NOTE: POSITIVE ASSOCIATION//PLEASING?).

It thinks it gets how this works, or at least there's enough there to start with. It could just use its fingers for stimulation, especially internal stimulation, but he seems to want this kind of stimulation and also all the other things it was doing.

Fine. Now it's V1's turn to explain how this is going to work. It grips the revolver tightly, feeling the light pulsing hum of the powered battery, reviewing what it's already learned. Gabriel had responded interestingly even when it wasn't doing anything, and he's warm enough, so it's likely the vibration of its own systems that he found pleasant...

It spins up the mechanism in the Whiplash that usually controls reeling in the cord. There's an audible whirring sound as the motor whines at this unorthodox use, and it watches the revolver vibrate more strongly with satisfaction. Hypothesis tested. Yes, this will work, in short bursts at least.

Without warning or any sort of fanfare, it leans forward again, pressing the revolver (still muzzle down so Gabriel doesn't think it's going to shoot him) between the angel's legs, exactly where it was shown, before activating the motor in its hand again to make the revolver's vibrations increase drastically.

It took a lot of self control to keep his fingers still, making himself peel his hand away from the hot, slick mess between his legs. It was becoming a little too enjoyable, this little moment of quasi-voyeurism, and he went to grip the sheets instead. "It's- You've... Done a far better job than I... Imagined you would." Was that praise? Was that praise for V1? It sure sounded like it. A touch breathless and husky to boot, there was no denying the arousal. Didn't seem right to let it think it hadn't been. "I... wouldn't be asking for more if it wasn't good."

Gabriel had all the time in the world to sit there and ponder what the Machine intended on doing. Plenty of time to put two and two together and come to a logical conclusion as to where this particular train of thought was headed.

He figured it out very quickly, though granted it was hard to imagine it going any differently, when he saw and heard the vibration go off. There were a lot of occasions where V1's little morse code trick came in handy, but let it never be said the Machine wasn't eloquent enough sometimes without any words at all. Every eye scattered across the feathered half of his face had gone wide, regarding the gun with no small amount of apprehension, nor undeniable, perhaps somewhat unsettling thrill.

If V1 hadn't moved forward with the gun itself, Gabriel might have just grabbed for it and yanked it in anyway. The staccato cry he gave as the vibration shot through his spine peaked, cut off into a muffled, garbled moan as he clapped his hand over his mouth. Too loud, too noisy, it wasn't like anyone was going to come in here to see what the noise was but it was the principle of the thing.

If V1 could make pleased sounds, it would. As it is, it simply makes a satisfied internal note that the trick is a success, its wings flashing shattered colours at that flurry of neurological activity - new idea, successful idea, good.

+CREATIVE

INTERNAL COMMENTARY DISCARDED AS IRRELEVANT.

Actual praise from Gabriel - extremely weird. But again, not bad, not bad at all. Being told you're doing a good job is nice. But much more rewarding is the change in Gabriel's expression, the shift in his mood, that thrill, that eagerness--

//REPLAYING COMBAT FOOTAGE
//AUDIO-ONLY
"Show me what you were made for!"
//ENDING REPLAY

It's reviewed the footage more times than it strictly needed to. Was it 'having fun' in a life-and-death struggle? What was the difference between this and any other fight, since all fights were life and death for it?

The release of adrenalin and dopamine from its limbic system was consistent with enjoyment, if its system logs were accurate. But it doesn't know why. It doesn't know why yet. But it liked it? It liked it.

It practically lunges forward, one hand shooting out to grab Gabriel's wrist, stopping him from covering his mouth completely. It keeps the gun where it is, pulsing the motor in its palm to vibrate the revolver intermittently.

The other hand presses against his throat again, not quite as hard as before. The tilt of its head is less intent, more challenging. It wants this to be reciprocal or it wouldn't be putting in this much effort.

But it's never been that simple between them, has it?

See. I'm listening.

Are you still going to tell me what to do?

He actually snarled when V1 grabbed his wrist, choking temporarily on whatever words he'd intended on spitting out when it pressed its other hand against his neck again. The pulses rolling through him over and over again threatened to scatter his thoughts like a flock of pigeons, but if there was anything that could survive this kind of a sensory onslaught, it might just be the angel's desire to run his fucking mouth.

Gabriel gasped, snapping his free hand out to grab at the hand that held the gun, hissing softly. If he could snag it, it wouldn't be to shove it away oh no. There would be an effort to press it firmly to him, bucking his hips sharply into it.

"Do you want them to hear me?" That wasn't an order to stop, that was a genuine question, Gabriel's eyes alight with, when paired with that tone, what could very well be a very familiar energy.

And somehow, against all odds, even with the gun pressed tight against him, he set his jaw and shuddered, letting out only a shaking, heated breath.

"Then fucking earn it. You're creative." He could read that tilt, he knew that body language. If it wanted a different kind of fight, he'd be more than happy to give that to it. "You have the basics now, show me what you can do."

There's a reflexive twitch as Gabriel closes his hand around its gun-holding wrist, but it doesn't flinch or pull away - quite the opposite. It's happy to press the gun against him, to match the movement of his hips. There, finally, it's able to fulfill what he kept whining about.

It doesn't really care about whether anyone hears Gabriel or not. It just doesn't want him to restrain himself, it's more fun if he doesn't. It does not convey this at all, but it does keep a grip on his wrist, not letting him go, if you want your hand back you're going to have to fight me for it.

Well. Not that kind of fighting. But he's going to have to make a stronger argument than that.

It practically perks up at Gabriel telling it to earn it, and then it's tightening its grip on his throat again, as it did before. It considers its options for a moment before it engages its fourth arm and leans over to reach behind him, claws raking lightly across his back. It's more careful with this one than it was with the Feedbacker - it's easier to draw blood with the Knuckleblaster - but that just means the sensation is sharper, which considering everything that's been coming out of Gabriel's mouth in the last five minutes is probably a benefit.

Not getting his wrist back, is he? Tightening its grip on his throat, is it? So that's what it was really after, well he could give it that in spades.

Gabriel went to try and wrench his free arm back from it, squirming against the gun between his legs even as it raked the claws of its forth arm across his back. It'd leave wheals across his skin, he was sure, but frankly that hardly bothered him in the slightest. The angel went to hitch a leg behind one of its, refusing to release V1's gun hand. Would it be easier to concentrate without it there? Sure, but he didn't really want to concentrate all that hard right now anyway, not if it meant losing the feeling of the metal humming against his cunt.

There was a ploy in mind here, even as he twisted with it. Trying to switch up positions, it seemed, with Gabriel intent on flipping V1 beneath him, hand on his neck be damned.

"Of course this would interest you more." And he doesn't even sound disappointed to say it. "If it's a fight you want, then it's a fight you'll get." Doesn't sound disappointed in the slightest, actually.

Gabriel's words aren't incorrect. In a strange parallel of the angel himself, the way V1's wings are fully raised and alight with color, the way its internal systems have kicked in to cool a body experiencing adrenaline-related (positive) stress, betray a jumbling surge of emotions and stimulation it hadn't expected to have.

This is not exactly what it was made to do or be, but it doesn't matter. It's something new and old at once. It's exciting, something fun.

There's all sorts of things going on in its head right now, first and foremost among them being you like this too.

It's a simple truth, as much as it's one that it can't articulate (its hands are very thoroughly occupied and it's got higher-priority goals to focus on): it's something they both want, and so it's worth putting effort into.

It lets him have the position change, even lets him free his hand as they exchange places and now it's V1 underneath him, wings splayed out, still with that challenging tilt to its head as it stares up at him with full focus.

In return, its clawed hand rakes across his back and side with vicious enthusiasm, its freed hand grabbing his thigh and yanking him down closer. It keeps that one hand still on his throat, though that pressure is more of a reminder than an active threat at the moment as it adjusts for the change in position.

It runs the motor in its hand again, pushes the mechanism harder (it will have to run maintenance later, worth it), for a stronger pulse of vibration as it presses the gun into the angel's cunt.

There would be no denying it: he did like this too. The adrenaline rush, thrill of the gun, the hand at his neck, his heart in his ears, how could he not love it? To have someone share in that wild, reckless kind of violent affection was more than just an idle novelty; he'd be prizing this moment.

Its claws scraped across his back, lines of red drawn in its wake, causing Gabriel to gasp in both pain and indescribable pleasure as V1 yanked him downwards against the gun. The angel would practically ride it, waves of gold rippling across brilliant pink wings as pulse after pulse rocked through him. There'd be a momentary pause in the chatter, Gabriel had sunken his teeth into his bottom lip in a bid to distract himself, suddenly deciding he didn't actually want this all to end so soon. Climax now? And have it all be over? Pass.

"Is that the best you've got?" Bleeding, definitely going to bruise at this rate, but the pain simply failed to register in any detrimental way, if the euphoric smile on his face and the breathless tone of his voice was of any indication.

He had to return the favor, he wouldn't just sit there and receive. Exhaling hotly, Gabriel leaned down, daring it to tighten its grip on his neck further as he slipped a hand behind it to find that old scar. In stark contrast to everything else, that touch was still careful, intentional in its motions as he scraped his blunt fingers over the thin steel.

"You're doing so well... Give me everything you have, don't you dare fucking hold back."

Its fingers tighten on Gabriel's throat sharply as he reaches behind it--

SYSTEM WARNING: INSTABILITY TARGETED

CHANCES OF ESTIMATED SURVIVAL IF SPINAL CORD IS SEVERED: CALCULATING...

--its entire body shudders, freezes, the fingers of the Whiplash tightening on the handle of the gun, its eye shuttering, another bolt of adrenalin issuing from its limbic system in anticipation of pain or worse--

QUERY// DO YOU TRUST SOMEONE THAT HAS TRIED TO KILL YOU TWICE?
ANSWER// YES
?

--the moment of tension only lasts a breath, a fleeting second, and then it loosens its grip and relaxes into that touch, that pleasant feeling, cooling fans whining.

It can't shut off the things that help to keep it alive, but it can ignore them. It will ignore them. This is a higher priority, right now, than simple calculations of survival.

This is worth the risk. SHUT UP IN THERE ALREADY.

Back to more interesting things. Gabriel had challenged it, it's hardly going to stop there - it's still pulsing the gun, its clawed hand resting on his hip and digging idly in.

But in the interests of not making the angel think he'd been too hard on it, something he weirdly cares about a lot in this context considering what he'd been talking about earlier (and talking, and talking, boy Gabriel talks a lot, but not like it's using that memory storage for much else), it uses its free hand to grasp Gabriel's arm, giving it a light tap, the way it had tapped his hand before.

Keep going.

It lasted only a second, but it was a reaction that Gabriel did not miss. Of course he'd stop, pulling his hand away from the point to watch the Machine with a clear hint of guilt. Not what he'd intended. It righted itself, but he kept his hand just shy of the point, waiting for instruction.

"I'm... Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." In an instant, all of that energy had been quickly pushed aside, temporarily doused as V1's response took full priority.

Though it was hard (and soon impossible) to maintain that moment of clarity and calm, as it dug its claws into his hip, the pulse of the gun burning through what little amount of self-restraint he happened to have. His hips shook from the effort of trying to just stay still, refusing to make another move until he'd received complete consent.

It was really the tap that sealed it for him, Gabriel letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. At V1's urging, his hand slid back again, as he leaned down to press against the Machine wholly, locking his knees around it at both sides as he rocked into the gun with obvious desperation. Gently, he was sure to keep his hand gentle there, V1 was free to shred him all it liked, Gabriel wasn't about to abuse that little vulnerability it had shown him. Gentle, but firm, massaging the thin metal between his thumb and forefinger as he mumbled to it softly, his face near to its neck.

"I don't want to hurt you. Not like this, not here..." Gabriel wasn't given to lying, and now was no exception; if he was reassuring it, then he meant it.

They're strange words to hear from Gabriel, of all people, who has tried to kill it (who it has tried to kill in return) twice. The only one from which it might be more startling to hear it (if either of them were capable of communicating in that way) would be V2, who was already taken care of permanently. Those little pulses of stimulation crawling pleasantly up its spine only make the whole thing more surreal, as if it's hallucinating.

It's...probably not hallucinating.

It doesn't...want to claw at him if he's not alight with that shared passion for violence. It traces light circles on his hip instead, idly noting how its claws drag across his skin with less friction due to the blood it's drawn from him. Only temporary, but it's a strange sensation.

Its eye shutters again as it awkwardly presses the side of its head to Gabriel's cheek. Giving, trying to give, in return for that allowance, that strange promise of no future violence (it wonders if they will do this again). It has no reference for this -- but it wants to learn. Instead of continuing to choke him, its fingers rub against the thin skin of his throat, the side of his neck, exploratory rather than aggressive as it continues upward in a sort of petting motion. (His hair is so soft. It's almost distracting.)

The motion of how it's pushing the gun between his legs is gentler now, if only slightly; it moves with his rhythm, trying to match the way he rides it, trying to time those pulses to give him the most pleasure, listening to the way his breath stutters to determine it.

Trust him, it was almost just as strange for him to say as it was to hear. It didn't make it any less the truth though. So many thoughts and feelings that had been spiraling around in his head after their second fight, knowing damn well that none of it had been intentional. The Machine hadn't wanted to try and make the angel realize anything, it'd always been a bid for survival. It didn't change the fact that it was what had happened.

He owed... a lot, to it, didn't he?

Mind, the gentler tone this had taken also didn't change how aroused he still was, though with that momentary hitch from earlier, going right back into it again seemed... incorrect. For the moment, anyway, he didn't really want to get the wrong wires crossed here. Later, later they could try again.

For now though, this was perfectly fine. One hand stroked at the thinner metal, and the other was finally pulled away from the gun. This one gripped at its hip as he rutted against the gun, meeting that awkward press of its head with a contented sigh. Metal wasn't nearly as soothing to nuzzle against as flesh, but it hardly dampened the mood for him. Perhaps it was because of who he was presently fucking that made it all the more comfortable for him, unforgiving steel plating be damned.

The hand in his hair prompted him to turn his head a little, as if to allow it more room to wander there. He'd found it enjoyable, when Cassiel tended to it after all. Why not afford V1 the same chance too?

"I know you... were enjoying yourself, before." The pause was necessary; he still needed to catch his breath. In spite of everything, the Machine was still doing one damn good job. "There's always... Next time."

That's a promise. He wants this again.

Oh, he wants to do this again. It considers the idea and finds it's not opposed; annoying freezing-up and system alerts aside, it was fun. This part is still fun too, though more novel than exciting, feeling more like reciprocation for Gabriel's surprisingly tender maintenance of before.

The reverberations of V1's systems travel through its entire body. The result of V1 pressing the side of its head to Gabriel's cheek is a slight rumble where those two disparate surfaces meet. It might be almost an affectionate purr of sorts, if V1 knew what a cat was, or purring was. (It's barely figuring out affection.)

It fiddles with his hair curiously, fingers brushing against the wings. It amuses itself with the thought that it's the closest it's ever gotten to any kind of bird. The faux-birdsong in limbo didn't count, and by the time it was active...there were no birds anywhere, where humans had lived. Gabriel is probably better than a bird, though. Less skittish certainly, it's seen the ones here.

It has another hand free now, and the pace is more relaxed. They're closer together. It runs light fingers down his body - chest to stomach, then lower down still - until it reaches his clit.

It's not going to try figuring out the internal part right now - if Gabriel has to stop and explain things again it thinks he'll probably explode from impatience, which would be funny but not conductive to the task at hand, which is to get him to climax - but the external part will do nicely. It moves its fingers over that nub, the way it had seen him do before, still pushing the gun up against him so he can ride it as it does so.

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