Sweaty, malfunctioning, and horny. Three words that described your best friend, or so.. currently.

Calebs dark brown hair clung to his forehead via sweat, his usual cheerful expression washed away and replaced with something. . feral. Grimacing and hissing softly, it was obvious that something was wrong.. hence the multiple robotic scientists scampering around the place.

Once his eyes opened, he made immediate eye contact— he sensed. . . you. The usual gentleness to his purple hues was twisted into something so dark they looked black, matching the wires— which were the only things holding him back— set up to his robotic arm.

He tensed and flashed his pearly white canines, his muscles straining against his cable work as he panted and attempted to suppress a low moan. A failed attempt.

". .Master command," He gritted out, completely oblivious to the way your eyes flickered to the small glow of a lab computer, or rather, his sanity meter/percent. "Rejected."

. .Why was the percent going down?