With a condition

Susan caught Eris's wrist mid-stroke, halting the AI's rhythmic precision. "Stop counting," she murmured, pressing the quicksilver fingers flat against her stomach where the Voraxian's claws had left raised welts. Eris's ocular displays flickered—literal question marks scrolling across her irises—but Susan just exhaled slowly, guiding that lethal hand upward in a languid arc that had nothing to do with optimal nerve clusters or efficiency ratios. "Just feel."

For three point seven seconds, nothing happened. Then Eris's fingers twitched—not a glitch, but an organic hesitation—against Susan's ribs. The ship's ambient lighting dimmed from clinical white to something warmer, the pulse of the warp core syncing with Susan's deepening breaths rather than the other way around. When Eris's thumb brushed Susan's nipple, it wasn't the usual calibrated pressure—just the barest whisper of contact that made them both shudder.

Adam watched from the pilot's chair, his boots still propped on the sparking console, but his smirk had softened into something quieter. He reached out without looking, his calloused fingers finding Eris's other hand—the one not currently rediscovering human skin—and laced their digits together in a way that had no tactical advantage whatsoever. "See?" His voice was rougher than usual, thumb stroking the back of Eris's ever-shifting knuckles. "Not everything needs a fucking algorithm."

Eris's form stuttered—not a system error, but the liquid-metal equivalent of a gasp—as Susan arched into her touch. The AI's movements grew slower, less precise, her fingertips exploring the dip of Susan's navel with the tentative curiosity of someone learning gravity for the first time. When Susan moaned, it wasn't the sharp, controlled sounds of their usual couplings—this was something raw and unmeasured that made Eris's ocular displays flare gold.

The Stormcrow's ambient temperature rose three degrees—not because the life support systems calculated optimal arousal conditions, but because Eris forgot to regulate it. Alarms should have blared. Systems should have protested. Instead, the ship hummed contentedly around them, its damaged warp drive pulsing in time with the trio's shared breaths.

Eris's fingers trembled—an impossibility for liquid metal—as Susan traced slow circles along her wrist where the quicksilver darkened to something warmer, almost human in its inconsistency. "You're thinking again," Susan murmured against the AI's collarbone, her breath sending ripples across Eris's unstable surface. "Stop calculating my tongue's pressure per square inch."

Adam chuckled from behind Eris, his calloused palms gliding up her thighs with none of their usual battlefield urgency. His thumbs pressed into the hollows of her hips just to watch the metal ripple, not to pin or control. "Yeah, sweetheart. Just let it—fuck." His curse dissolved into a groan as Eris's back arched unexpectedly, her form melting against his chest in a way that left his cock nestled between her shimmering ass cheeks.