Work Text:
You took a step back to inspect the painting you had been working on for nearly an hour. Working on unsuccessfully, you noted as you took in the miasma of muddled colors that defied description. The word ‘unfortunate’ came to mind.
Empathium was a groundbreaking reactive paint pioneered by Orhaza, one of Betazed’s most revered artists. Incandescent and ever-changing, empathium harnessed the force of responsive nanules that interacted with the painter in a way that made masterpieces inevitable.
That was the claim, anyhow. Meanwhile, the icy orb of Andoria hung outside your quarters to scrutinize your tragic attempt at art with its pale blue presence.
You sighed and let the brush slip from your hand to fall back onto the ceramic palette with a mocking clatter.
“Is something wrong?”
Data emerged from the bathroom naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist, hair immaculately combed back, golden skin gleaming from the shower that had washed away the carbon exhaust from the earlier incident in engineering.
“Nothing a strategically placed match won’t cure,” you replied dryly.
He stood a few paces behind you and cocked his head to the side, studying the abject travesty on the canvas with an intensity that made you wince. His artist’s eye was sharp, and his android eye even sharper. No doubt his sensibilities were unsettled by the mess you had made— a slash of steel against your ego.
“It just won’t do what I want,” you said, quickly filling the silence to mask both your discomfort and his damning analysis. “I keep trying to—“
Data closed the distance between you and wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you gently back against him, his body fitting perfectly against yours, an alignment that set your pulse at an immediate and unexpected gallop.
“You are overthinking this and thus complicating the process,” he said, his measured voice low and reassuring. “The paint is designed to work with you. The more you fight it, the more it fights back. You must not fight the process but work with it, like a partnership, or…” He swayed slightly, guiding your hips to move with his, his mouth close to your ear as he spoke in a near-whisper. “A dance.”
Those two words drove a wave of shivers across your skin as his breath grazed the shell of your ear.
“Like so…” Data picked up the discarded brush, its bristles still thick with green and saffron paint, and placed it back in your hand before folding his larger hand around yours to direct your movements. His breath was warm against your cheek, a steady cadence that soaked into you, easily overtaking your own rhythms.
Lowering your joined hands to the palette, he dipped the brush into a small pool of paint that shimmered in shifting reds. “Hold the brush loosely, not too tight.” As he emphasized the word, he pulled you more firmly against him, erasing the last bit of space between you.
Already you could feel his cock growing hard beneath the towel to strain against the covered flesh of your ass, igniting a fire between your legs as bright and hot as the paint clinging to the bristles. Never had your uniform felt more unwelcome, the last barrier between you and his already bared flesh.
“Hold it delicately, as if you wish to let the handle caress your palm,” he continued, guiding your hand to meet the canvas. His voice was low and breathy in your ear, as confident as the sweep of the brush.
A thick streak of luminous paint like the tail of a comet followed his sweeping stroke. With his masterful guidance, the reds shifted to pulsing oranges and yellows and hot pink. Shapes began to emerge from mayhem, and what once felt foreign and hostile to you turned into something alive and sensual under his command.
Just as swiftly he changed direction, painting a bold band of red below the first, swaying with you in synchronicity. Side to side he led your movement with his hips, and with each arc the firm pillar of his prick nestled evermore firmly between the soft mounds of your ass.
“Do you not realize that I was watching you paint? Two minutes and thirty-six seconds, to be precise. During that time, I made several intriguing observations. For instance, I noticed the way you placed the handle of the brush in your mouth while you considered your next move.” He reached up and around, brushing his fingers lightly across your lips, which instinctively parted for him.
“And I observed how your frustration brought a noticeable flush to your skin. A flush…” His hand moved to the zipper of your uniform top, slowly pulling it down your arms before letting it fall to pool at your feet. “I wish to replicate and amplify.”
His fingers traced a soft path from the base of your neck all the way down your spine, stopping just before reaching the waistband of your pants. Then, with the same measured pace, he retraced the path and stopped at your bra to make quick work of it, leaving you bared to him from the waist up.
“You see, you need only let your desire direct the outcome.” He trailed his fingers up your abdomen, coming to a purposeful stop between the heavy rise and fall of your breasts, drawing a whimper of need from deep in your throat. His lips met the pulse pounding at the side of your neck. “Allow me to demonstrate its full potential.”
Data pivoted to place himself between you and the canvas, letting the brush drop back to the table. He stood analyzing you for a long moment, his sunflower gaze sweeping down your exposed flesh to explore and warm you all at once. Your heart raced and skipped as he slowly lowered himself to kneel in front of you, carefully pulling off your shoes and socks. He unfastened your pants and pulled them down with your underwear before casting them aside, leaving you exposed to him in the crystalline glow of Andoria.
Holding your waist in his powerful hands, he looked up at you adoringly as he kissed your abdomen below your navel, his aquiline nose pressing into the giving flesh. You moaned at the simple gesture and ran your fingers through the silken strands of his hair, careful to smooth it back so it was tidy the way he liked.
“I love you…” Those whispered words were too small to contain the feelings that swelled up inside you when you looked at him, but they would have to do.
Picking up the palette, Data dipped his fingers into a pool of deep blue paint and reached up to touch the hollow at the base of your throat, trailing a thick vein of azure down your breastbone, gliding across your skin with paint-slicked precision until he came to a stop at the spot he had just kissed.
Data drifted his fingers across the palette again, picking up blues and oranges and reds, and then rubbed his hands together so the disparate hues swirled around one another. With android grace, he caressed a film of paint up your abdomen, across your breasts and hardening nipples, and then back down over your hips. The paint quickly blossomed into deep indigo, and across it vibrant pinpoints of silver began to pulse to life. His focused passion turned you into a mirror of the cosmic lanterns sparkling through the depths of space, as if he were mapping the stars themselves onto your body.
Evolving and merging, the paints came alive under his expert hands. The colors glowed soft and luminous on your skin and were reflected back on his face.
He continued adding paint. Pale galaxies swirled, stardust shimmered down your thighs. His fingers danced over your shoulders and down your arms, dragging pink and orange nebulae behind them. He traced thin ellipses of gold between your hips, describing the orbit of planets unknown to you. Soon, the golden ellipses expanded and intersected the path of the nebulae above, creating a bridge from your chest to your waist, as if the galaxy was being woven into your very being.
The sounds of your sighs and moans broke the silence as his hands sanctified you with every touch laid on your trembling flesh. Each flourish that poured from his fingers echoed great care and devotion until you were a vibrant, pulsing mirror of the cosmos.
Lost in him, in his devoted work, you gasped when his hands left you, shocked at the sudden and unwelcome absence.
Data stood and walked a slow and calculated circle around you, his expression one of quiet awe. You had become a work of art and his solar eyes took in every detail.
“You are exquisite.” He stopped in front of you and allowed his fingertips to graze your lips in a thin veil of cosmic rainbow. When your lips parted for him, his parted as well, as if there could be anything left to say.
His large hand cradled the back of your neck and pulled you to him, his mouth finding yours in a heat of need. You tucked your fingers into the top of the towel and pulled it away from him, exposing him to you just as you were exposed to him.
Naked and pale and as expertly sculpted as gold-flecked marble. He was perfect. You could taste the perfection in his mouth, feel it radiating from his synthetic flesh.
Please, you prayed, please let him swallow me whole so I can live the rest of my life inside that perfection.
In the space of a gasping, desperate breath your body was crushed against him, your hands roaming his smooth flesh, fingers digging into him as if you needed to find your way into the heart of him.
Tongue in your mouth and hands gripping your hips, Data crowded you back until your ass hit the cold polymer table. Just as quickly, he lifted and sat you on its surface, pushing you back so you were sprawled out on your back on display for him. His gaze raked over your body, and yours over his, and you noticed then that the crashing together of your bodies had reflected onto him the very cosmos he had veiled you with, transforming you into a mirror of one another.
When you reached out and pressed the palm of your hand to his chest over his precious inorganic heart, the imprint remained, the paint unable or unwilling to erase your mark on him.
Data parted your legs slowly and with great reverence, taking his rightful place between them, his needy cock grinding against your soaked slit. His hands skirted up your thighs to urge the strobing chroma into new shapes and configurations. Further upward he went, over your hips and abdomen in a single delicate motion that set off a fountain of pigments. Delicate strands of violet and crimson merged and intertwined to become a new nebula that rushed to settle over your breasts.
You threw your arms over your head and arched your back, a move that put your breasts on display and angled your hips toward him. An invitation with no need of words.
When his thumbs brushed the sensitive curve where breasts met ribcage, twin comets flashed in their wake. The stars he painted on you multiplied and strobed in time to your heartbeat.
His golden eyes were fixed on his art, on your body and its strange cosmos.
“The universe is recreating itself on you. Even the universe cannot resist you.” Data closed his eyes for a moment, his breath unsteady. “I… I need to be inside you.”
Your legs reflexively coiled around his waist just as they had so many times before, as if your body molding to him was your natural state of being, urging him onward to fill your hungriest space.
Leaking pearlescent rivulets of anticipatory fluid, Data met no resistance as he drove his hips forward. His head tipped back, gaze unfocused on the ceiling as he was swallowed whole inside your heat, a long sigh escaping him.
Low, tortured moans poured from you as he moved slowly inside you, but heartbreakingly deep. Every thrust sent a shimmer of stardust cascading up your body, his longing and adoration translating through paint and pleasure. Stars multiplied across your body, their light intensifying. The cosmos mirrored on Data’s body pulsed and danced to the rhythm of yours, your bodies synchronizing and communicating in the space between you.
Data was an artist: paint, the violin, poetry. Words and flesh. All of these were his mediums. He was a master sculpting you into shapes of pleasure, orchestrating your moans into crescendos of ecstasy. The push and pull of the soft clay of your body until you were molded into a living statue of rapturous worship. An infinite fugue of pleas for more, chanting his name like a hymn his body conducted.
With hooded eyes, Data searched your face. “You are the most beautiful art I have ever known. I wish to look at you all day.”
Pulling you up to sit on the edge of the table, Data held you breathlessly tight against him. The paint between you melded and mixed, creating new heavens between the desperate press of your bodies. He stroked your face and hair gently with hands you knew held unimaginable power. You could feel the restrained tension there, the hum of need below his synthetic skin he worked so hard to keep controlled for you.
He kissed you hard, as if he was desperate for breath and your mouth held the only air in the universe. His fingers dug into the tender flesh of your lower back to hold you in place for him, so you were unable to writhe in his grasp. His head fell to the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, lips pressed against your collarbone to bless you with warm breath that came hot and tattered with need.
Your hands slid down to grab his ass and pull him hard inside you, the needy vice of your legs constricting so tightly around his thighs that he had no room to move inside you, satisfying himself instead circling his hips between your thighs. You buried your face and fingers in his hair, inhaling the intoxicating polymer scent of him.
Holding him tightly to you, you focused on the frantic geometry of his thrusts, his hips gaining more momentum as his android strength slowly broke the hold your legs had on him.
Data raised his head and heartache seized you as you met the pleading desperation in his gaze.
“Please,” he said, thrusting deep and wild, skirting the boundary of restraint. “Say it. Tell me…”
You released your grip on him and held his face in your hands to kiss him, softly at first. “I love you, Data.”
His mouth opened for you so could he taste the words he so badly needed. But that kiss, the words, were like the first sip of wine that drove you thirsty for more. His tongue glided quickly over yours, hungry and possessing, and then he pulled back to leave you panting and disoriented.
“I love you...” You chanted the words between each frantic kiss. “You’re perfect… so perfect, Data… I love you.”
The speed and force of his thrusts increased with thigh-bruising intensity, and still you wanted more. You clung to him as surely as the paint that glowed slippery and bright between you, heels and fingers sinking into him.
Constellations of silvery stars formed to connect across your joined bodies, nebulae pulsing in heated colors in time to your harmonizing heartbeats.
Data gasped and shook as his cock spasmed, emptying inside you in long, tidal bursts, painting you inside and out. Still, he wouldn’t stop, mouth tasting the cosmos of your flesh as he thrust into you over and over to force those moans and pleas and cries of pleasure from you that he collected like treasures, pumping a never-ending deluge of fluid inside you as he did.
And soon he was driving you into your own climax, stars and galaxies erupting behind your eyes as the cosmos painted on your bodies flamed in and out of existence over and over again, supernovae exploding across and between you.
Even as your orgasms subsided, your hold on one another didn’t weaken. Instead, you panted against each other’s mouths and watched the slowed swirling of a new universe taking shape between you, knowing that the most beautiful art you made was the art made between your bodies, when desire met devotion like brush meets canvas.