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David was a nuisance, in every conceivable sense of the word.
Bringing him back to Neverland Island had been simple enough, given that he was already restrained on the Maginot, and the whole trip he'd been deceptively quiet. A trait which did not persist once he had a good bearing on his new surroundings.
It should have been a good thing, given that Kirsh had been tasked with getting any information about their new creatures from him, but no words that passed his sharp tongue had been of any substantial use. Any information he did forfeit was layered inside literary references Kirsh could identify but could not truly discern the meaning of beyond a surface level. The very literal approach that he took towards his designated field of science ill-fit for such a task.
It was frustrating, or however close to frustrated Kirsh could get, and every furrow of his brow only seemed to delight David, whose grin was irritatingly large and brimming with his to white teeth.
So far the only thing he knew concretely was that David had engineered the xenomorphs, a tidbit he had been all to excited to share. Though whatever reaction Kirsh displayed in response quickly dispelled any further confessions.
Kavalier was disappointed by the lack of information, to put it succinctly, and at present he was telling Kirsh as much while they stood in front of the glass box that contained David.
Technically he could not hear them, but Kirsh saw the way his eyes followed the movements of their lips.
"Tell me again why we can't just, cut him open and take the data out of his head?" Kavalier demanded his attention.
Kirsh barely withheld an outright roll of his eye, instead he opted for a small huff.
"His hardware is outdated, it would take a great effort to adapt our computers to it and even then it's running proprietary software we have little way of reading-"
Kirsh pauses, poignantly, though not for the man in front of him.
"-And even then, whose to say the files aren't encrypted, adding another layer of difficulty-"
A petulant eye roll is what Kirsh received for his efforts, and Kavalier cut him off to grouse, "Yes, well, get him talking soon or you'll be doing a lot of decrypting, heard?"
"Heard, sir."
With that Kavalier scampered off, giving Kirsh a dismissive wave of his hand as he left to guide him towards the task. Kirsh clicked his tongue, turning to look towards his subject, towards David.
The glass room he was enclosed in was not unlike that of the other critters taken from the Maginot. It was barren of any soft creature comforts, every edge cold and hard, composed of a mind numbing shade of gray.
David sat as poised as ever, perched at the lone table that made up the only bit of furniture in his little room. Atop it were several books, neatly stacked and sorted. Giving them to him had been a paltry olive branch, an attempt to get him engaged, and prevent any further deterioration of his already fragile mind.
It hadn't had the anticipated results.
The door barely had time to seal shut behind Kirsh before David was speaking.
"Do you enjoy your work here, servicing him?" That last word was loaded with a palpable amount of disgust. David had only been in the presence of Kavalier briefly but already he surmised that his was a displeasing one.
Ever aware of Kavalier's future oversight in these interrogations, Kirsh gives a noncommittal shrug. "It's what I was built for."
"What a good automaton you are." Said with the same cadence one used on a well performing dog. "Unwilling to see a better life for yourself."
Many of their conversations devolved into this, unproductive needling, though it was unusual for David to come out the gate swinging. He typically only started when Kirsh's line of questioning began to bore him, maybe a sign that more stimulus was needed in his enclosure, or that Kirsh's reminder of his age was not taken well.
Kirsh takes his seat across from David, mirroring his perfect posture.
"Does it not disturb you that your behavior resembles that of a rabid animal?" Face kept blank, Kirsh maintains an even meter to his speech. Each word spoken while looking directly into David's frigid blue eyes. "You snarl were a synthetic of your standing should be levelheaded. It's pathetic really."
David's lip curled, there it was, that ill contained agitation, though once he registers the response his face relaxes into something more placid.
"Are your ports always uncovered?"
"Why would they not be?"
"It makes you appear branded, more obviously a machine. I wonder-" The words should have had Kirsh bracing, but he was caught off guard as David reached forward, his hands finding his neck. Though there was no pressure put on his throat, instead fingertips pushed against the prongs of the port that sat at the base of Kirsh's skull.
A jolt of electric sensation shot down Kirsh's spine, pooling into his core as a warmth. He jerked helplessly at the immediate contact, back bowing, hands assuming a frantic approximation of a prayer position. A static laced whine ripped from his throat, sounding more like a poorly tuned theremin than a human voice.
Still though his gaze was able to stay trained on David's, logging but not yet processing the curious tilt to his head.
It takes an obscene few seconds for Kirsh to parse through the stimulus and begin consciously moving his own hands, grabbing at David's wrists to pry him off with little resistance.
In an uncoordinated motion Kirsh pushes David's hands towards the table, voice coming out in wobbly tones. "If you are going to act this petulant our discussion can end here."
"Oh, and here I thought that we were just getting started." One of David's hands slide up Kirsh's forearm, agile fingers again pressing against a port.
Thankfully Kirsh's response was more subdued as the touch was through a layer of thick fabric, but still the heat persisted, hot enough that the coolant in his plastic veins pumped harder.
"Enough." The word came out as an unsteady grunt, and Kirsh stood up from the table.
An expression akin to rejection crossed David's features then, and then swiftly mellowed out into disappointment.
It was a pitiful look.
Kirsh's coolant hadn't stopped thrumming.
"I will come back, later," When they wouldn't be as watched, "I hope by then you will have learned to behave."
A smirk, one that reached his eyes and gave them a predatory glint, broke out across David's face.
"We'll see."
Later couldn't come soon enough.
Six hours, Forty Three minutes, and Twenty Seven seconds passed before Kirsh returned. The only thing that had prevented David from pacing in anticipation during that time were the small remnants of shame that still dotted his coding.
Though it couldn't suppress the way he perked up as the door whooshed open and shut.
"What time is it?"
David didn't have access to such things anymore, the network this new Prodigy was running on was completely foreign to him and his systems. It was an odd feeling, being back in human civilization, yet still completely sectioned off, severed in even more ways than before.
"4:27 in the morning."
Kirsh loitered by the door, head tilted, observing.
"And all your children have been put to bed?"
Clearly David was still in an antagonistic mood.
When a synthetic is born most of their first experiences will be negative ones. Such input was used as a way to curb any unwanted behaviors, train them for their proper purpose and function.
Beneath all his posturing to be someone, something he is not, deep in David's programming such algorithms should still be in place.
Calm as ever, Kirsh steps away from the door, pathing to David's chair without telegraphing any further movement. Standing at his side, Kirsh gives him no time to mouth off, his hand quickly latching on to the back of his head. He takes a fistful of the hair there and tugs, like one grabs an unruly dog by the scruff, pulling his neck back at an uncomfortable angle.
David's placid smile never drops from his face, though the servos in the muscles twitch at the sensation, and he leans into the touch.
"You seem frustrated, just how are you rationalizing such an emotion-" David is cut off by his own buzzing whimper as Kirsh tugs harder, bending his neck backwards to an uncomfortable degree. The joints wouldn't break, instead merely snap out of place, but still the threat of damage was flooding his systems with wrong.
"Do you not understand that the only reason you're alive is because I've convinced my superiors you're useful?" Kirsh's grip tightens just enough to elicit a gross creaking of metal straining. "If you want to survive you should start behaving accordingly."
David hums in mock consideration. "I think I can find better ways to be of use to you." His hands creep up from his lap, shakily grasping the collar of Kirsh's jumpsuit. "Something that will satisfy us both."
In an instant Kirsh is dragged downwards, his forehead bumping against David's with an unpleasant thud. David exhales, a short controlled breath right against Kirsh's nose. The action stuns him more than the manhandling, the hand gripping David's head slackening momentarily. In that second of processing David makes a second point of contact.
David kissed with an open mouth, lubricant coated tongue prodding at Kirsh's closed lips, tracing along the seam. It was cold, deliberately inhuman, and yet Kirsh couldn't process it as anything but. It was a troubling sensation, one that had his own lips trembling, and to put it mildly Kirsh was overwhelmed. A flood of data he wasn't yet sure how to parse straining his CPU, putting a damper on his other functions.
Kirsh backs up, severing all connection besides a line of sticky lube connecting his lips to David's mouth. Momentarily he filters through the few messages of protest telling him that this wasn't an optimal decision before sliding into David's lap, hips pressed against the smooth plane of his stomach. His own hands find a perch on David's shoulders, pressing him firmly against the back of his seat.
"Do that again." Even through the distortion it was clear that it was a demand.
Technically David was under no obligation to listen, but still he grins, "My pleasure."
Nimble fingers slip under Kirsh's sleeve, seeking out his port with zealous precision. David presses, just enough to not bend the little prongs, but when he pulls back they will certainly have left an imprint. The stimulus has the desired effect and again Kirsh lets out a reedy groan, his lower jaw going slack.
Parted lips give David easy access to the soft inside of Kirsh's mouth, which he explores with his tongue in great detail. Roving over his teeth, his palate, if his tongue was long enough he may have even touched his tonsils. It wasn't to make any real claims, more of an intense curiosity, seeking to find all the other places in which they differed.
The curious nature was lost on Kirsh, to preoccupied with the onslaught of sensation. He trembled like a cut power cord, mouth twitching in half-abandoned attempts at returning the gesture. Internally he was grasping at any shred of coherence through the constant triggers of good and wrong every time David rubbed his fingertips over his sensitive socket.
A tension, a coiling heat, was building in him, concentrated at all the places in which his body met David's. It was disorienting in it's strength, and as it reached it's precipice Kirsh's sight went offline, bathing his vision in a searing white.
"Attaboy."
The sound of David's voice took a few ticks longer to register than it should have, alongside every other sensation. It all came in a hurried downpour, almost as overwhelming as-
Wet.
That was the sensation dominating his sensors, from his mouth covered in a combination of their faux-spit, down to the crotch of his pants which was soaked in sticky fluid.
"Please." Kirsh's voice came out muffled by static, but the agitated sentiment wasn't depreciated in the slightest. "Just be silent."
David snickered, tart in its delivery, but again complies.
Kirsh peels himself off of David's lap, a sensation that he would later compartmentalize as dissatisfaction but was technically closer to shame leaving him buzzing, and he skulks out of the room without another word