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Dorian gets infected with a sex bot virus.
It's a little embarrassing and a lot awkward, but it's also clearly not Dorian's fault, so John tells himself to suck it up and deal with it like the mature, adult, experienced cop he is.
"You know I'm not going to jump you or anything, right?" Dorian asks, clearly having picked up on John's good resolutions. "I may want to, but I'm not going to."
"Excuse me?" John says, because he really doesn't like - " 'You may want to'? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Dorian gives him a look. Dorian has got creepily blue eyes. John has often thought about them in exactly those terms. Creepily blue. Extremely unattractive, and very much not something John would want to see first thing in the morning.
"The virus is designed to lower inhibitions," Dorian says, though Rudy's been over the whole thing already, with a lot of hemming and hawing and 'excuse me's. "Most sex bots are meant for commercial use."
"Pay to play," John says, to show that he has, in fact, been paying attention during the briefing. Like always, and he sort of resents the implication that he didn't, that he'd need Dorian to tell him again.
"Crude, but mostly accurate." Dorian shrugs. "Whoever wrote this virus presumably didn't want to pay."
"Right," John says. "So what does this have to do with you wanting to jump me? I mean, you're not a sex bot. You're a cop." He almost adds, 'You're my partner', but there's a time and place for that kind of sappiness, and John doesn't want to give Dorian the wrong impression.
After all, he doesn't have the excuse of having been roofied.
Which reminds him, "It's going to wear off, right? I mean, you've got anti-virus programs and stuff."
"In fact, I shouldn't have been affected in the first place," Dorian says.
"Well, hey," John says. "Don't beat yourself up over it, all right? Way I look at it, it's like catching the flu. It happens."
"Not to me." Dorian sounds genuinely upset.
John kind of wants to give him a manly hug.
He doesn't, of course. It would be all kinds of inappropriate and besides, he and Dorian don't have that kind of relationship.
As it turns out, the MXs are able to catch the virus, too. They're able to catch it just great, in fact, and they're a lot less restrained about it, too.
"What the hell," John says, for lack of a more constructive comment. His hand hurts. He thinks he may have broken something.
On the maybe-positive side, the MX looks fine. John would've liked to at least see a scratch or a dent or some exposed wiring or something, but nope. Right as rain, and twice as annoying.
"John," Dorian says. His expression is something else. John wants to tell him that it's going to be all right, that they're partners, which means he's not going to let anything bad happen to Dorian, ever.
"Listen up, you sick, synthetic bastard." He also wants to hit something. Again. It's usually a productive feeling. Right now, he feels more frustrated and pissed off than productive though.
Dorian says nothing. John realizes that he kind of expected ... something. A reminder that Dorian doesn't like people using the s-word.
"Your use of terminology is incorrect," the MX informs John.
"Screw you. How's that?" Not the best choice of words, probably, considering the circumstances. Then again, Ken dolls. Sex bot virus or not, John figures he's safe.
"Please clarify," the MX says.
"Oh, go to hell." John turns to Dorian. "You all right?"
"Destination not found in city directory," the MX says. "Did you mean - "
"You didn't need to do that."
They're in the car. John likes it when they're in the car together. In the car is a perfectly good place to be.
"Eh. Rudy'll fix him. He'll be fine. Good as new." John decides not to mention how good it felt, to put a few rounds in the creepo's head.
" 'He'?" Dorian asks. "So you - what? You shot a person for hitting on me?"
"What?" John's pretty damn sure that's not what happened. "Hitting on you? Were we listening to the same conversation? At the least, at the very least, it was sexual harassment. You know, the sort of thing that happens when a guy's a jerk and has had a bit too much to drink and can't take 'no' for an answer."
"He put his hand on my arm and suggested my programming was defective," Dorian says. "He offered to help the best way he knew how."
"Well, gee, now I feel like a bad guy." John decides that nope, still great.
"My programming is defective," Dorian says. "You know that. If it hadn't been, I wouldn't have caught the virus in the first place."
"If that's so, how did an MX catch it?" A horrible, awful thought occurs to John. "The two of you weren't - I mean, I didn't think you - "
Dorian rolls his eyes. Absurdly, the gesture makes John feel better immediately.
"Good," John says. "No problem there then, right?"
"You tell me," Dorian says.
John decides they're good, everything is good, the whole damn world is just peachy.
John doesn't like sex bots. The idea - well, if you're not going to have sex with a real person, you might as well put on a movie or look at a picture or just use your imagination and use your right hand or something, right?
He gets what they're selling, the appeal of sex without strings, without needing to send flowers, or call when you're going to miss dinner. Stuff like that. The little things that make relationships hard.
Lying in bed that night, alone, he imagines having Dorian there, imagines Dorian waiting for him when he gets home, warm and smiling and eager to please, with none of those annoying comments Dorian's always making. He imagines Dorian telling him how much he loves John, how good it feels to have John's hands on him, how badly he wants to feel John's cock inside of him.
You sick bastard, John thinks, right before he comes.
"Bad night?"
John feels vaguely guilty. "It was okay," he says. "Some weird dreams, that's all."
"I wonder what I'd dream about, if I could dream." Dorian sounds a bit sad. John wonders if it's the virus.
"How do you know you can't? Maybe you do dream and you've just forgotten all about it when you wake up." John could do with some forgetfulness himself.
"Tell me about your dream," Dorian says.
John would rather shoot himself. (In the leg, by preference.) "It's silly."
"I could use a laugh."
"I - " John tries to come up with something funny. He's had plenty of weird dreams. He should be able to make something up. "No."
"Please?"
John decides this definitely isn't the virus talking. It's just Dorian being his annoying self. "I said no."
"Pretty, pretty please?" Dorian bats his eyelashes.
John laughs. It feels like a good alternative to crashing the car again, and likely to involve far less paperwork.
Dorian looks pleased and a little smug, as if he's gotten exactly what he wanted. Which absolutely, positively isn't John sharing his sex fantasy from last night, so John decides to call it a win and hope there's been a break in the case or something.
Good news: there's been a break in the case.
Bad news: the guy who probably wrote the virus turns out to be packing a bit more firepower than expected.
"You good?" Stupid question: Dorian's always good. And even if he isn't - well, nothing a bit of chewing gum or a bit of duct tape can't fix short-term.
"I'm good," Dorian says. "Are you good? You're bleeding."
"It's just a scratch," John says. "Couple of bruises." Hurts like a bitch, but pain's all right. Pain means everything's still there. John's heard of people feeling parts of their body that aren't there anymore, but it's never happened to him. "I'm fine."
"You're welcome."
"Oh, come on. I had that." John's almost sure that this is true. It's not his first rodeo. He's not some rookie who doesn't know when to push his luck and when to stay in over, nice and safe.
"You mean I had that," Dorian says. "And you're welcome."
John wants to kiss him. It's probably the blood loss. Stuff like that can really screw with your head.
"So how long until you're back to normal?" John asks. Truth is, he can barely even tell Dorian's still infected at all.
Not that that's a bad thing. Not like John wants Dorian to want to jump him or flirt with him or even be a little more appreciative, maybe, when John steps in to save him from some jerk MX.
"You think I'm not normal now?"
"Well, you know." John shrugs. "There's the virus."
"Ah yes," Dorian says. John's not sure what to make of his tone. "The virus."
"I mean, it's got to be a relief, right? To get rid of that." John thinks it'd be a big relief to him, to stop looking at Dorian and feel - though he doesn't, of course. Not all the time. And anyway, he's got it under control. Hell, if Dorian can keep his pants on, so can John.
"Funny thing," Dorian says. "I got rid of the virus three days ago. You didn't notice?"
"Why would I have noticed?" John frowns. "More to the point, why didn't you tell me?"
"You liked the idea," Dorian says, adding, when John opens his mouth to deny everything, "At least, you consistently showed signs of physical arousal any time the virus came up. Why do you think that is, John?"
John's pretty damn sure he knows. Doesn't mean he has to say it out loud. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to be scanning my testicles anymore."
"What? You figure the only way you're going to get into my pants is when my judgment's compromised? What does that say about you?"
"Hey," John says. "I have no interest in your pants, all right? That's just - are you sure you got rid of the virus?"
"You're right. Maybe you should check." Dorian sounds calm, almost cool.
"How'd I do that?" John isn't sure he wants to know.
Dorian smiles at him. "Ask me to go to bed with you."
If John dreams, after, he doesn't remember. Dorian has improvised some sort of charging facility which looks like somewhat of a fire hazard as well as a serious 'break your neck while going to the toilet in the middle of the night' hazard.
Dorian's also made coffee, so John decides he can be a crank later.
"So," he says. "All good?"
Dorian unplugs himself, which is not something John really wanted to see. "Well, I'm good. You might want to work on your technique a bit. Not to complain, but, well. I'm just saying."
"Oh, very funny." The coffee is perfect. "Really. I feel like my sides are about to split."
"Would you like me to submit a report? Your eyes only?"
John groans. He feels a bit sore, a little like he's gotten in a good work-out. A lot like he took a beating, which he did, so that's understandable enough. "No thanks."
"That was a joke." Dorian sits. John almost pours him a cup of coffee.
"I got that."
"You probably did the best you knew how, and I appreciate your effort."
"Please stop," John says. "You're making me blush." Not likely, with the way this conversation is going. "Anyway, not like you were all that great yourself."
"Really?" Dorian cocks his head. " 'Oh, Dorian. Yes! Please! Right there! Harder! Harder!' "
"One, that's creepy. Two, I never said that." Did he? John would be the last to admit his memories are a bit hazy in some places, but still.
"It's all right, John. And I love you, too."
John's pretty damn positive he never said anything like that. "This coffee's pretty good."
"I know," Dorian says.
Well, all right then. "Any idea if we've got a new case already?"