Chastity's Nook

It’s kinda strange, not having to undress their partner first, but Ashton rolls with it, goes right for the petting. Unsure of how much Fresh Cut Grass can actually feel – every day seems to differ – Ashton starts slow, rubbing circles against the stylized blades of grass imprinted right in the center of that shiny frame, and exults, mentally, when Fresh Cut Grass begins to loll against them, murmuring that this is odd but “very nice, Ashton, wow,” as they lean into the sensation. Emboldened, Ashton trails their fingers lower, tracing slowly down the length of that frame and coming to rest at the base of Fresh Cut Grass’s torso where it meets the strut of their single wheel.
“Ashton?” Fresh Cut Grass slurs against their shoulder.
“Mhm? You need me to stop?”
“No… it’s good,” Fresh Cut Grass murmurs. “But, uh – the gizmo? Don’t want you wastin’ your time?”
Ashton can’t quite keep down the smirk. “Buddy, I promise you, none of this is a waste of my time.” It’s really, really not – not with their friend slumped nice and warm and heavy and what Ashton would call ‘boneless’ in literally anyone else, against their good shoulder.
“‘Sides,” they add. “I gotta warm you up before we get to the real show. ‘S only polite.”
Then, when Fresh Cut Grass mumbles a dazed assent against the skin that always peeks from beneath Ashton’s habitual vest, Ashton slides two fingers left and two right, so that they’re cupping the robot’s base in their palm, cradling one of the few spots where they know Fresh Cut Grass’s plating is thinner.
Then they push the heel of their palm in against that smooth, shiny spot up front and curl their fingers up into the dark places beneath, both moves at once, and Fresh Cut Grass cries out in shock.
“A-Ashton!”
At some point, they’ve raised their hands to clutch at Ashton’s arms: Ashton can feel ten bright little points digging into their skin, particularly against the eternally-tender scars on their left arm, and they hiss at the sweet, painful light of it. Turning just a little, they press their nose to the side of Fresh Cut Grass’s head – noticing, absently, as they do that the robot is vibrating, ever so slightly, beneath their touch. “You good?” they croon.
“Y-yes!” Fresh Cut Grass stutters, the syllable quickly extending into a cry as Ashton flexes their fingers again beneath them. “Yes, Ashton, please, that’s good, that’s so good...”
Ashton works them over this way for a bit, pressing inquiring fingers gently into and against every crevasse and cranny of Fresh Cut Grass’s lower frame and even making a gentle fist around the top of the strut that culminates in their friend’s single wheel, jerking that slowly up and down to see how the robot reacts. And with every new attempt or alteration, Fresh Cut Grass is quick to inform them that this is amazing, Ashton, oh wow, can you do that again, oh OH, right there, aah…
But as delightful as this is, Ashton hasn’t forgotten their other option here either. “You ready for something more?” they murmur against the side of Fresh Cut Grass’s head again, and when they assent, Ashton yanks away the palm of their hand, quickly replacing it with Milo’s patch. The little cups they affix higher up Fresh Cut Grass’s torso, one on either side of the tallest stylized grass blade.
Fresh Cut Grass just has time for a stifled, “Oh, oh my,” before Ashton replaces their hand where it was before, cupping the robot’s base again but this time, also rubbing their thumb up and down the bristled pad as fast as they can go. Like they’d suspected, it generates some kinda static that, judging by Fresh Cut Grass’s startled yelp and then literal moan of pleasure, gets translated right into the various smoother sides of the gizmo.
“Ashton,” Fresh Cut Grass gasps. Those bright points of light in Ashton’s arms dig in tighter still, thrilling them to the core.
“Yeah?” Ashton murmurs. “You still good?”
There’s a creak of metal as Fresh Cut Grass, no shit, shivers. “Yeah,” they confirm with a rush and a rattle. “Please, more!”
And, with a shit-eating grin, Ashton obliges.
It doesn’t take much more time before Fresh Cut Grass is wheezes in a way that Ashton has never heard before, and Ashton can feel a bit of moisture against the four fingers they still have tucked low. Some kinda lubrication, no doubt, but Ashton brings those fingers up to their mouth just to taste it and be sure – yeah, bit oily, but not unpleasant.
Then they nearly topple over as Fresh Cut Grass topples against them, bringing their not-inconsiderable weight to bear against Ashton’s good shoulder, and now it’s Ashton’s turn to wheeze a bit.
“You good?” they manage to ask, bracing themselves enough to keep them both upright.
“Yeah,” Fresh Cut Grass confirms, sounding dazed but pleased. “Wow, I – I didn’t think sex was really going to be that big a deal for me, given that I’m not soul-touched like you an’ Milo, but, uh, that was somethin’ else. Whew. I liked that a lot! Thank you, Ashton.”
“No need to thank me for a little friendly nookie, ya lunk,” Ashton grumbles, but turns out that Fresh Cut Grass wasn’t quite finished yet.
“Any time you feel up for it, let’s try that again with the patch on you!” the metallic menace continues. “I noticed that your arm’s real sensitive, and that got me wondering if that was the only spot, and-“
Oh shit. Ashton was never going to know another moment’s peace, were they.
“Please, shut up,” they beg Fresh Cut Grass. “I never thought I’d miss that post-blowout moment where everyone was too tired to talk, but you’re gonna make me change my mind, Letters.”
Fresh Cut Grass pulls back far enough to consider their face. “Really?”
“Nah, just a joke,” Ashton assures them, pulling the robot in close again. “Any time you wanna try something out again, I’m here and waiting for ya.”