Gonky’s Seen Some Stuff

He was cute, in a way you never quite thought ship schematics could be. For all his battles, for all his knowledge as a clone, yet still managing to find the little pieces of awe and wonder in the neighbouring ships on docking platforms.

Hunter's orders were clear;

Stay behind and watch the Marauder with Tech. The rest would head into the HUBworld for supplies and procurement. Call if anything happens.

"That is a Consular-class cruiser! With a modified engine! Certainly not legal from the thruster count or-Oh! That is a refurbished Rho-class shuttle." Tech tittered from the command chair beside you, fingers a flurry of movement over the console to bring up the schematics on file to compare their neighbours ships against, zooming in and out as he went.

"Has anyone ever told you, that you talk to much?" You ask, hardly meaning it in a cruel way from how you relax in your seat, chin propped on a fist as you watch him zip between holograms like a child on Christmas with a new toy. 

"Frequently, actually" Is all you get back, Tech leaning forwards as a ship banked overhead to a nearby platform, name rather incomprehensible at how quickly it is muffled by the soft hum of the next hologram activating and the clone right into his next little chatter of pros and cons to its current upgrades.

Hunter said they'd be back within the hour ... You'd have plenty of time.

"And, how often have they done something about it?" You ask next, a boot coming over to the arm rest to hook the tow behind, gently spinning the engineer around to face you, lacing your fingers together over your knee to regard him.

"... I am not sure I follow?" Oh, bless him. Brains of the mission, clueless outside it.

"I am flirting, Tech" You can't help but chuckle as you see the little lightbulb blink on above his head, and hands slowly pull his lenses down over his face. 

"Oh. Oh, I see  ... Apologies" Well, the glasses might hide his blazing cheeks, but his ears are certainly that 'Bad Batch' signature red. Cute.

"... I can go keep watch outside. Don't worry about it" You offer at the way the cockpit fizzles into silence, Tech in some state of probable rebooting. You'd volunteer to help out wherever Tech wasn't if it causes any tension later. Blame confined spaces and good company. 

Pushing up from your chair with a grunt, a roll of shoulders at how close quarters this ship can be but its ... quaint, you decide as you turn to step down from the cockpit only to turn at a sharp little 'Wait!' behind you. A noise that you ever so slowly turn around to regard Tech about, a brow raised expectantly for the rest. He's spun completely around to face you, even if he can't seem to hold eye contact for a moment before his hands become the most interesting thing in the ship and bothered by imaginary lint or a fascinating scuff he hadn't noticed before.

"Uh, no. That, that won't be necessary" Tech murmurs, gaze constantly flicking up to and away from you behind his little lenses as he fidgets, slowly flicking through holograms as he finds his words. "I'm, uh ... I like that you listen to me?"

"Do the others not?"

"Not always. Echo, occasionally, but mostly, no?" 

"That is a shame. You have a nice voice" You hum, stepping back up into the cockpit and moving to take a seat once again. Tech was in the biggest one, and he certainly didn't take up much of it. It was far too easy to rest a knee between those twiggy thighs and brace an arm above his head on the backrest. "I wouldn't mind hearing a little more of it. What about that one? With the gold?"

"We ... Aren't facing the window"

"Good. I'd hate to share my view. Besides, you've seen every ship that has landed here since we arrived. I don't think you need to see it to know which one I mean." You purr, hand curling under his chin to tip it up to you, not about to let him hide that sweet little face.

"I-It's a H-2. Executive shuttle. Mostly for officials or diplomats" Tech whines, finger still curled under that gorgeous chin and thumb sweeping over that plush little lip before pulling him up for a sharp kiss. They weren't machines, even genetically modified and created humans were still humans. And even lab grown humans had reactions and needs. 

And this one was certainly needy.

"As I said, nice voice" You smirk, letting go of his chin to lean backwards, admiring how little it has taken to undo him. His grip on the arm rests likely will leave dents for the next occupant, he's flushed crimson down that markable throat into the collar of his blacks, and panting softly at getting enough space back to breathe again.

"First time on the ship. ... Or?" Oh, you could have quite a bit of fun based on the answer. 

"N-No, there is a bar. Coruscant. Back rooms... Supply closet" Comes the breathless answer, lean legs shifting under you as the engineer gets a little more comfortable, hands lifting to tug at his blacks collar to let a little more cooler air down there. Was ... Was it this hot in the cockpit, or just him? The thermal regulator says it was comfortable, but it felt like Mustafar up here!

"Good to know. And the blue and white ship?" You ask, noticing how he seems to fuss with the neckline of his blacks and decide it would be ever so cruel not to help him out a bit. 

Fingers curling under the hem of his blacks at the waist, carefully helping raise the fabric up and over his head, mindful of the lenses before pushing the fabric backwards over the backrest of the chair, arms stuck in the tight fabric to the upper arm, tugging faintly at his sudden restraints. Someone's headband would have been rather convenient, but one could always make do with their surroundings. Besides, he wouldn't damage the arm rests or his blacks worrying at them like this. It was quite cute to watch muscles tense and flex either side of his head as he tested how much flex and give he had. Not a lot.

Not that he'd have much thought process to set aside for testing his binds, tipping that chin up again for a graze of teeth along that flushed throat, trailing knuckles down a toned little abdomen to another hem, and resting over fabric to give a soft squeeze and tracing little patterns into the mesh. Oh, that hitch and groan above your ear was delightful, lenses pressing to your shoulder as his head tips forwards, and each little pant as you brush over somewhere sensitive is divine.

"It's a ... its ... ah" He's trembling, from the way the chair creaks at him pushing backwards to arch up, arms flexing in their confines unsure if he wants to hang on for dear life or push you backwards, but if he wasn't pink before he was now. He'd make the Emperial flag envious with his current shade.

"Its a ... what??" You croon, brushing the back of your fingers over the mesh beneath you, dancing nails up and down those quaking thighs and listening to the hitched inhales into your shoulder with each margin of fabric explored. The breathless moan into your neck at your hand slipping under the hem and fingers curling around him was probably the most vocal he's been tonight since you took a seat. 

He's sensitive. 

Understandably so, with a life under armour. Any and all registry to the brain would be armour plates shifting, the blacks doing most of the work as dampeners to the skin so, one could hardly blame him for the hitched keen as you start to move certainly checks out. Thumb tracing little circles over the head with each idle stroke, settling back on your knees to watch Tech.

He's beautiful; Head lolled to the side, flushed skin spreading along his chest and stomach, arms flexing where his hands likely fisted and strained at the sensory feedback, unable to help every moan and pant to escape his lips as you slide your hand along him, squeezing as you move downward if only to watch his expression as hips buck up towards you.

"... What was that?"

"Please" He whines, head tipping backward to thunk against the headrest as you squeeze again, legs shifting under you as booted heels dig into the flooring to push more of himself up to meet you.

"Good boy" You murmur, pleased even in his current state that Tech still has his manners. Even if it would have been cute to teach him some, how could you deny such a pleasant request? 

You catch him by the lips again, cornering every hiccup and moan against your lips as you find a pace that has him shaking and arching up against you, heels squeaking against the cockpit floor on ever press and downward stroke until he's silent. 

Lips parted in little rabbit breaths, hips bucking as he curls forward into your shoulder, seat creaking as arms strain to come forwards, and the little sound as warmth floods your hand is addicting. 

Twitching in your hand as he breaks, hot breaths ghost your neck as he sucks in desperate little breaths, and you love the way his body seems to convulse as you gently slide your thumb back and forth over the slick head. 

Just in time, that is the crew entering the spaceport again, over the headrest of the chair. You've got a few minutes before they'd reach the boarding ramp.

A soft little brush of lips to his throat, making a nice little mark against his collar bone as you help unhook his blacks from over the headrest, and you're freeing his arms from it as you rock back onto your feet, running the fabric through your fingers to toss over by their apparent 'laundry' section of the mess they called belongings as he slumps against you, starting to get lights on behind his eyes as he apparently takes a moment to reboot himself into a post orgasmic version of Tech... Its sweet. 

You've never seen that goofy little smile before. You could almost assume him drunk were it not for their location and the last hour in landing.

"Can you stand? .............. A grunt is not an answer, Ships. Can you stand?"

"I do believe so?" Comes the soft little wheeze the second time around, curling an arm under his arm to haul him up onto wobbly little legs with a comforting pat to clad little cheeks, guiding him down that step into the main galley and leaning in the doorway. 

"Hunter's stepped onto the platform, so we have about  .. eh, two minutes for you to put some new blacks on. Can't let the crew know you're actually fun" You grin.

"I'm always fun" Comes the little retort from somewhere near the bunks, storage lids clacking open and closed from around the corner in mission objective of right sized blacks. Perks of everyone aside Wrecker being somewhat like-sized? You could raid ‘wardrobes’.