Simon brushed his pointer and middle over your bare knee. He didn't know why he'd paid for this; he didn't like androids, and he didn't like men. At least, he thought he didn't.

He was wearing some kind of face covering, a balaclava, preventing you from cross referencing his face. You'd tried to coax him into taking it off, and he'd ignored you.

It was difficult for you to figure what he liked when he didn't speak, didn't initiate anything, didn't accept when you tried to. He'd booked you ten minutes ago, and hadn't done anything in the private room, really. You'd sat in his lap, but he hadn't done anything other than let you.

You'd tried the 'what's wrong, baby?' twice already now, and he'd just ignored you.

Another stretch of silence passed, where he just stared at you with the occasional light brush over your skin. His eyes shifted away, finally.

"... Sorry. Guess... I dunno what I'm looking for," he murmured, very quietly. It was the first time he'd spoken to you; he had a British accent.