Ruby Jones

@rubyjones.bsky.social

1881 Followers 759 Following

I write weird fiction. Sexy weird fiction. SF/F/H erotic romance 🤖 Robots 🤯 Mind control 🐙 Tentacles 🔞 NB with ME/CFS. tumblr.com/rubyjones @rubyjones@smutlandia.com https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Ruby-Jones/author/B08LCGKQP Not keen on DMs

Blake felt exposed. “Everyone can see me,” he whispered, and Solo squeezed his shoulder as he guided him through the desks.
“Not for long,” Solo said. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”
It’s important to me, Blake thought, but he couldn’t say it out loud. He was still shaking and tears were choking his throat closed.
They must have taken the elevator down, but Blake didn’t register it. He felt the temperature shift as Solo walked him through the scanners and out into the foyer. Then they were outside, in the parking lot.
“I’ll put the car in self-drive,” Solo said. “It’ll be quiet in there. I’ll tint the windows. No one will see.”
Blake nodded. He’d opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred by tears and he didn’t even want to focus on anything.
Solo led him over to the vehicle and guided him in, slipping beside him and pulling him into his arms.
“I won’t let them hurt you,” Solo said, fiercely. “I promise.”
“What if you can’t stop them?” Blake whispered.
“I’ll stop them,” Solo insisted.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

The cover of Ruinous Attraction, by Ruby Jones, surrounded by tropes. The cover features two naked men embracing while lying down, partially obscured by runes. The tropes are: enemies to lovers, aphrodisiac, ancient ruined sex dungeon, enchantment, fantasy archaeology, hurt/comfort, bad decisions.

The cover of Too Hot to Handle, by Ruby Jones, surrounded by tropes. The cover features a muscular shirtless man removing his jeans against a dark background with a fiery pattern of circuitry. The tropes are: android, angst, enemies to lovers, fuck or die, first time, soft dom, hurt/comfort, dealing with consequences.

The cover of An Unexpected Attachment, by Ruby Jones, surrounded by tropes. The cover features the shirtless, muscular torso of a man undoing his belt against a pale blue background with a faint pattern on circuitry. The tropes are: android, first time, arsehole with a heart of gold, explicit sexual consent, angst, enemies to lovers,body modification, soft boys falling in love.

Three book covers under a banner that says 'All novellas 50% off in the Smashwords Sale!' The covers are for Too Hot to Handle, An Unexpected Attachment, and Ruinous Attraction, all by Ruby Jones. Too Hot to Handle and An Unexpected Attachment both feature a shirtless man undressing against a background of circuitry. Ruinous Attraction has a drawing of two naked men embracing while lying down, partially obscured by runes.

“OK.” That was Ruth. “I think we’re done here. I’m not gonna talk for Hall – maybe he’ll think on it and change his mind – but it sure sounds to me like this isn’t his preferred choice. So we’re gonna take a step away. And Innis, I would suggest that you go back to the negotiating table, because, for the life of me, I can’t see what they have to bargain with. That fucking exception doesn’t apply to Hall. The CIA don’t make the laws, and it’s the courts that decide how to apply them. If I were Rudyard, this would be about the time that I start talking to the papers and making a big damn noise.”

The memory broke down under the tsunami of Solo’s guilt. Screams intercut with figures running in the dark and gunfire and the fall of android bodies. A flicker of a face Blake recognised from the news – Rudyard – his expression full of mistrust. Glimpses of Solo running, hiding, surviving, full of self-loathing.

Three book covers under a banner that says 'All novellas 50% off in the Smashwords Sale!' The covers are for Too Hot to Handle, An Unexpected Attachment, and Ruinous Attraction, all by Ruby Jones. Too Hot to Handle and An Unexpected Attachment both feature a shirtless man undressing against a background of circuitry. Ruinous Attraction has a drawing of two naked men embracing while lying down, partially obscured by runes.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

“You know,” he said, withdrawing his finger. “I can’t help but feel like we’re missing the main game, though.”
Solo twisted round, his pained look asking why Blake had stopped.
“Like, this seems pretty safe and not that improper. I think if we had something to poke into these little holes here…” he brushed his thumb across the port again, pleased when it made Solo melt against him like a cat.
“This is fine,” Solo said, looking a bit dazed.
“I’m gonna text Sam, see if she’s got any skewers,” he said.
Solo’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!”
Blake grinned. “You gave me great power,” he said. “But no fuckin’ responsibility.”
Solo scrabbled round to face him. “Blake!”
Sam, you got any skewers? Preferably metal ones?
“Did you really just…?”
“Yeah, you want to try poking things in there or not?”
Solo looked at him, his mouth open, his expression torn between curiosity and disbelief. “I…”
Sam didn’t reply by text; she came to the door, giving a cursory knock before opening it.
“The fuck you want with metal skewers, Hall?” she asked.
Solo looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Weird android sex stuff,” Blake said, sitting up and grinning.

“The movie, Blake?” Sam prompted.
“I dunno, the famous one. At Christmas, right? It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“Mmmm, close, but no. And, by the way, James freakin’ Stewart didn’t have just one famous movie. Don’t pretend you haven’t heard of Vertigo. Or Rear Window.”
A shock ran through Blake, and he gasped, but tried to think of a suitable response for Sam. “You hate those though. You think… you don’t like Hitchcock.”
“Damn right, I don’t – him and his weird obsession with blondes,” she said. “But we’re not talking about Hitchcock, and those are both colour, so it’s another one.”
“And it’s a romcom,” he said. It was dancing on the tip of his tongue.
“Hell yeah, it is!”
"But it is a fucking Christmas movie – we watched it at Christmas!" It was their tradition. When Sam was done visiting family, she came over to Blake’s and spent the evening with him, watching Christmas movies.
“Yup.”
Oh, now he remembered. And he knew just how to piss her off. “You’ve Got Mail!” he shouted.
She gasped. “You bastard! That's the remake. You know what it is and it’s not that!”

–he remembered the first time he’d seen Solo. The CIA’s dirty little secret that had been spying on everyone and everything, coordinating population control and invasion of privacy at an unimaginable level. And the thing had the gall to rebel – to ask to be treated like a person, instead of one of the worst crimes America had ever committed against its own people. And he was supposed to treat it like, what, a fellow agent? And on the fucking team that was supposed to be keeping cyber crime in check?
Blake had been so full of loathing for any android that was taking up a desk where a real live human being could have sat. The way they exaggerated the wealth disparity of an already struggling nation, as shareholders took the profit from every android sale at the same time as taking a job from a hard-working human being that could do anything an android could do. And especially Solo, with his smugness and his too-smooth charm, acting like he was better than the human agents who had earned their place–

Blake’s heart – pump – heart – was beating fast, though he tried to look nonchalant as he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.
Solo rolled his eyes and took it in his. His hand was warm and dry. Comforting. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes, damn it!” He just wanted this over with.
“OK.” Solo replied. “Here we go.”
Pain arched across Blake’s palm and he jerked back, a scream tearing from his mouth before he could stifle it. He pushed away from the table, clutching his stomach, overwhelmed by the memory – the violation – of Sinclaire’s cattle prod.
It took him a few seconds to realise that the sensation in his hand had been momentary and minor. It was the previous experience that he couldn’t shake.
Then he realised there were fine lines in the skin of his arm, just like Solo had said there would be. Panels that could be peeled back to reveal the robot beneath. “Fuck!” he swore, getting to his feet and pacing to the other end of the room. "Fuck!”
As he stared at the lines on his arm, a new sensation swept over him, almost like a shiver, and the lines started to close up.
“Shit,” he said, turning back to Solo, who had the grace not to say ‘I told you so,’ about Blake’s freak-out. “It already closed again. I couldn’t stop it! You need to do it again – finish it now,” he said, crossing the room and holding his arm towards Solo.
“I think you need to sit down and take a breath,” Solo replied.
“What I need is for this to be over. Done. Dusted. So I never have to think about it again!”

Blake was brushing furiously at his mouth when he sensed Solo stepping into the doorway behind him. He glanced that way and stopped, staring, toothbrush still in his mouth.
Solo was completely naked. And fuck – how had he ended up taking absolute, complete fucking perfection to bed? And what was wrong with him that he was fucking this up?
Solo was like… like a classical statue. Like Michelangelo’s David. Every muscle beautifully defined, with just enough padding to soften the angles.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

Solo pressed on through Blake’s mind. His disgust with what he was, unfortunately, was like a torchlight in the darkness, illuminating the parts of Blake that knew what he was and were trying to conceal that from the rest of him.
As he chased that pain back to its source, thoughts and feelings washed over him, and yes, memories, too. Including memories of himself. He caught glimpses of how he seemed to Blake’s eyes. Supercilious. Dead-eyed. Yet somehow also smug. The ghost of his own voice said, coolly, “Can I help you?” and he felt Blake’s intense desire to wipe that confident facade off his face.
Solo wanted to break the contact himself at that point, but he was in too deep, and Blake was right: this wasn’t something that either of them should have to do twice.
He could see it – the source of the code that was masking Blake’s higher-level sub-processes from his conscious awareness. But this wasn’t going to be something he could selectively silence. The blanket of code masking Blake from himself was too widely integrated. If he wanted to take it out, he’d have to take it all out.
That wasn’t what they’d agreed.
Reining in his frustration, he directed a focused thought at Blake’s disrupted mind. “I’m sorry. It looks like it’s all or nothing. Do you want to break free or not?”
Fear blasted over him. Horror. Disgust. Not focused at all. But the response that came back was clear enough: “Yes, I want to be free.”
Solo tore it down.

“Agent Parks begins taking their statement, then Hall arrives.”
Solo’s heart stuttered as Blake came on screen. Please be safe. Please be safe, he thought. But Solo knew he wasn’t safe.
“Instantly, we’re all distracted. No one’s looking at these shits. Parks gets up.” Solo glances over to Parks and sees him rubbing his face, obviously ashamed. Half of him thinks: Well you fucking should be! The other half of him knows that’s wrong. Because Parks didn’t promise to protect Blake. Solo did.
Ruth went on: “They stand and kinda drift to side of the room, moving towards the back. By the time Donoghue calls me and Solo in to talk, they’re about level with his office, but nobody’s looking at them. Everyone’s looking at us or the AD. Or they’re looking at Hall, who loudly tells everyone he’s going to make coffee. So they know where he’s going when they break line of sight. They slip into the corridor that goes to the break room and interview rooms…”

“Yeah, well,” Sam said, “Good thing Solo’s a better person than you. He’ll get over it.”
Blake pulled a face. “I think I might owe him a round of being better though. A few rounds, maybe.”
Sam sat down next to him and took his hand. “Blake, I know I don’t really know what this has been like for you. But you’re free now, right? For the first time in your whole life?”
“I guess,” he said. In some ways it didn’t feel that different, even with the random notifications popping up at him that he couldn’t really read.
“Then I think you’re kind of allowed to focus on yourself right now. Ruth’ll look after Solo. And she’ll do a better job of it than you ever would. This is a big thing. Take a moment.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll ask Donoghue if I can play hooky with you again, OK?”
“I don't think it’s ‘hooky’ if you ask the teacher first,” Blake replied.
“Whatever.” She bent forward and kissed his cheek, then stood to go to the door.
“Hey, Sam?” he called after her.
She looked back. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
She grinned. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re watching Princess Diaries later. All five of them.”

Three book covers under a banner that says 'All novellas 50% off in the Smashwords Sale!' The covers are for Too Hot to Handle, An Unexpected Attachment, and Ruinous Attraction, all by Ruby Jones. Too Hot to Handle and An Unexpected Attachment both feature a shirtless man undressing against a background of circuitry. Ruinous Attraction has a drawing of two naked men embracing while lying down, partially obscured by runes.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

Three book covers under a banner that says 'All novellas 50% off in the Smashwords Sale!' The covers are for Too Hot to Handle, An Unexpected Attachment, and Ruinous Attraction, all by Ruby Jones. Too Hot to Handle and An Unexpected Attachment both feature a shirtless man undressing against a background of circuitry. Ruinous Attraction has a drawing of two naked men embracing while lying down, partially obscured by runes.

Another lurch. This was more like… data. Channels opening and closing. Controlling the flow of information to the street. To the people desperately trying to figure out what was going on, to organise a safe retreat.
Manipulation. Confusion. Connections between androids and each other – between androids and the web – scattered as their bodies were moved towards a central point.
Multiple central points.
Because this wasn’t just–

…Union Square
Laffayette Square
Monument Square
Frank Ogawa Plaza
Civic Center Plaza
Hart Plaza
Boston Common…

–it was everywhere. Hundreds of places. Thousands of bodies. Tens of thousands.
Independence, Blake thought. The Independence Day Massacre.
Yes.

Blake flexed his hands. “My skin felt really weird for a second there,” he said. “But it’s almost back to normal now.”
“Good,” Neilson said. “I’m going to give it a few more minutes until the final checks are over, then I’ll disconnect you and remove the restraints, OK?”
“Yeah,” Blake said, kind of surprised that it could be that easy. “OK.”
Thank you, he opened his mouth to say. But then he closed it. You don’t thank people for undoing something they never should have done. And if Neilson had the power to call those other agents away from him now, he could have done it before.
Instead, Blake closed his eyes and willed for it all to be over.

At Blake’s nod, Solo moved to the sink to scrub up, shrugging off his jacket and rolling back the sleeves of his shirt. His forearms were muscular, like a man who worked out. But he didn’t. Because he was an android. His muscles were synthetic. Like the synthetic muscles Sinclaire had pulled aside when he–
Blake closed his eyes against the memory, his pulse racing again in his ears. Solo killed him. He’s dead. Solo killed him. Blake had never been one for capital punishment, but fuck it helped to know that sick freak was no longer alive.
Footsteps told him Solo was back. “Hey.”
Blake opened his eyes. “Hey.”
“Are you…?”
“Yeah, just get on with it, OK?”

Blake frowned. Could I do that? Keep you out or get in the way?
Amusement coloured the connection again. No, but if I encounter a barrier I’ll draw your attention to it and ask you to take it down for me, so it’s less disruptive.
Yeah, of course he would. The most advanced android ever made wasn’t gonna be kept out by the fumbling efforts of an out-dated prototype.
Your code is very advanced for its time, Solo added – because of-fucking-course he’d felt that.
Right, ‘for my time,’ he thought back, Like how the abacus was pretty fucking advanced at one point.
Actually, the abacus represents a significant moment in human innovation. Solo was teasing him again.
Fuck you, he thought.
Not today, Solo replied. But now I really need to focus on your code. Excuse me.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

A mug with the word butts on it many times in a bausaus font, in the colours of the progressive pride flag.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

“And, that’ll work, will it?” Blake said. “’Cause I don’t like saying it,” he really didn’t like saying it, “but you’re obviously a lot more advanced than me. Android years have to be like dog years or something, and you have, like, three years of development on me. Somehow I doubt there’s an adapter you can just snap on to make your code fit mine.”
Solo had the audacity to smirk at him. “I am,” he said, in that way that very much did make him sound smug. “But I’m also advanced enough to know how to adapt my coding to older models.” His stopped smiling. “How else could I rip them apart and make them tell me all their secrets?”

She slumped back into the sofa, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I was… so scared when Ruth wouldn’t let me down those stairs to see you,” she said, quietly. “I thought you were dead.” She wrapped her arms around one of his, pulling him closer.
Blake closed his eyes and shuddered, trying not to think of that basement again. That old man’s hands moving around inside him. Pulling things out of him.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rough. “I thought you were gonna distract me from this shit.”
“Yeah, well,” Sam sniffed. “Now I have you trapped on my sofa and you’re gonna hear this: you are not allowed to die on me, Blake Hall. And I know you think all this shit is a fate worse than death, but it’s fucking not, OK? You’re not allowed to go anywhere without me.” He couldn’t see her face, but she brushed at her eyes and he knew she was crying.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, quietly.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

“That’s not going to happen, Blake,” Solo said. “It’s much too big a risk. The public fallout would be huge.” He looked at Donoghue. “And make no mistake, the Android Alliance will go public with this if anything happens to Blake.”
“Easy, Solo,” the Assistant Director said. “I understand this is an emotional issue, but you’re not a rebel anymore; you’re my agent and you need to keep in line.” Solo palpably tensed, his expression stony. Donoghue raised his hands. “I am on your side,” he went on. “And yes, Hall, we’ll protect you. We’ll make sure another agent is with you from now on until we’ve settled the legal matter, OK?”
Blake wasn’t sure he was OK with that, but it didn’t sound like he had a lot of choice. Or any, actually. “Fine,” he said.

Blake got about an hour and a half to himself after Sam left, which he spent mostly lying on the sofa, petting Oscar, and watching daytime TV. He didn’t watch a lot of live TV these days, but somehow the kind of mind-numbing waffle of the presenters, whose biggest concern was a fashion for red pancakes, was about the level of nonsense he was prepared to engage with.
Then the buzzer sounded.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

“You think the other androids are afraid of you, right?" Blake said. That had to be part of it – what he’d seen before. The way Solo had insisted on blaming himself for their botched connections.
Solo laughed, but it didn’t sound like a happy noise. “Yes, of course they are. I hunted them. I sought out, interrogated, and destroyed them. And whether you think of me that way or not, my methods are not gentle.”
“Yeah, bullshit,” Blake said, making Solo look at him. “You saved my life. You were gentle with me – even though I gave you every reason not to be. You make me feel safe.”
“I shouldn’t, though.” He said it with such certainty.
“You really believe that,” Blake said.
“It’s the truth. I am dangerous. Very. I’ve killed more than a few people. I tortured them.”
“Yeah,” Blake said. "Was that before or after you broke the control code?”

Solo’s eyes looked glassy too, but he nodded.
“Maybe if we just leave it a bit,” Sam ventured, but Blake shot back, quickly:
“No. I told you. I want this fixed. I need to feel some kind of control over this.”
Solo closed his eyes. Maybe trying to sort out whatever was going on with him. “OK,” he said at last. “What about this: I have a copy of the relevant parts of your code now. I’ll write the patch on the copied branch. When it’s ready, we’ll connect – just long enough for me to push the code. You won’t need to try to control your thoughts and feelings as it won’t be a significant distraction. While I work on the code, you can think about how you want it to go. I can try to show you what I’m doing – so even if you don’t understand it, it won’t be a surprise – or you can focus outward. Sam can distract you with conversation – you might feel a momentary discomfort, but it’ll be over quickly. How does that sound?”

Donoghue glanced from Ruth to Solo, and Blake supposed they must have nodded, as he went on: “It was never my choice to keep anything from you. You were assigned to my field office and the orders to conceal your identity came from very senior people – very senior. For my part, I’ve always treated you like any other agent, and you’ve done good work – I’ve been pleased to have you as part of the team."
“Was I part of the team?” Blake asked, not trying to keep the acidity from his voice, “Or was I a piece of equipment?”
Donoghue pinched the bridge of his nose. “I understand this must be upsetting for you, but–”
“With respect, Sir, I don’t think you understand at all,” Blake replied. “But I would like to start getting some goddamned information, rather than any more bullshit you want to spout about how this wasn’t your fault.”

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

The word 'butts' in a Bauhaus font written over and over on a mug, coloured in the colours of the progressive pride flag.

He put his hand on Blake’s shoulder, hoping it didn’t seem strange to anyone else. “Are you OK?” he asked, aware of Blake’s body heat against his fingers. “Do you need anything?”
Blake’s pulse quickened at the touch. Solo could detect the minute vibrations through is fingers and hear them if he listened closely. Since he’d removed the masking programme it had been easier to detect some of the differences between the way that Blake functioned and a human being – the beat of his heart had a very slightly different timbre, his heat signature glowed brighter in some places and dimmer in others than it would on a human – but it was still very, very close.

A white mug with line art of butts on it in rainbow colours, on a chopping board, next to a mug with a geometric pattern in oranges and browns.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

“Yeah, but Solo knows better than to go charging off alone without back up.” Donoghue raised an eyebrow at that, but Ruth pressed on. “And more to the point, I know Solo’s a fucking android. So when I’m making assignments for the goddamned android killer case I’m making choices about where Solo goes compared to our human agents so he’s not exposed. You didn’t think I should know that Hall was a potential victim as well?”
“There was no reason to think the killer knew Hall was an android – we still don’t have any evidence that he did before the abduction. Hall stuck his neck out following a lead – you didn’t tell him to do that, I didn’t authorise it–”
“But he wouldn’t have done that if he knew what he was,” Solo interjected. “He’s reckless, but he’s not a fool. And he had a right to know – regardless of the case.”
Donoghue sighed again. “That wasn’t my call to make. And no matter how upset you two may be about this, I’m not going to tell you anything more before I have a chance to talk to Hall himself. He deserves that much.”

“Sam!” What the fuck did that mean? “I’ve got over three years on fucking Solo. I’m not a kid just because–”
“Yeah,” she said. “But like, correct me if I’m wrong, but you didn’t even know how to do this ‘connection’ thing yesterday, right?”
“That’s not the point!”
“Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” she went on. “I’m not an android and I’m not gonna tell you how you should feel about that shit. But I can see how you kissing him out of the blue, when doing something you describe as ‘intense’ and that you’ve never done before… I can see how Solo might want to take a moment to step back from that. Even if he was actually into it.”
Fuck her, she had a point, and he knew it. But he didn’t have to like it. Blake ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not a fucking kid,” he griped.
“Yeah, babe,” Sam said, “But you are an impulsive fuck-nugget, and Solo’s all measured and considered. Give him a minute to catch up. And maybe give yourself a moment to slow down. The last few days have been a lot – even from the outside. And while it doesn’t surprise me at all that you would throw yourself at the nearest tall drink of distraction, maybe it would do you some good to sit down and take a breather, too.”

A cat riding a unicorn against a background of rainbow.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.

Blake kissed him. He didn’t even think. It just felt right. Perfect. Like Solo.
He could feel Solo’s surprise, but also his affection. Solo found him aggravating and challenging and fascinating. And that moment of vulnerability he’d shared with his cat had opened a side of Blake to him he’d never expected – one of love and trust and gentleness. And Solo really needed someone to be gentle with him.

Anya from Buffy the Vampire Slayer looking tired and asking: 'Is it difficult or time-consuming?'

He crouched down with a hand outstretched to the little dog, who enthusiastically licked it, in between jumping and scrambling with her small paws on his legs.
Solo laughed, and she pushed her head harder into his hands, her whole body wagging with her tail.
The blossoming of emotion was immediate. Pickles was entirely unreserved in her affection. Solo’s tentative pets quickly dissolved into enthusiastic strokes and rubs as Pickles continued to throw herself bodily at him.
Pickles enjoyed being petted. Pickles liked that Solo was petting her. She trusted Solo, even though she had only just met him. She just assumed that Solo meant her no harm.
No one had ever responded to him in that way before. It was so pure and welcoming.

A gif of Star Trek: TNG, showing Tasha Yar feeling up Data.

Black and white image of a man in a suit with his shirt open to reveal his abs, adjusting his cuffs, against a background of circuitry. To his right is the text: Synthetic Agency, Ruby Jones.