What she's asking of him is almost more frightening than the notion of sex, because sex can be casual, but an interface in this context implies something deeper, something beyond the friendship they share. Implicit, complete trust, the forming of a partnership. But he'd meant what he said; he isn't afraid. He's figured out what he wants, and this is part of it. In return, his own kisses grow needier, the whimpers becoming desperate little whines, and before he allows his own skin to flow away from his fingers, he can feel his body responding automatically, unbidden, following the dictates of another sort of programming altogether now that she's in his lap. With a grunt of frustration, he pulls away from her, looking down and to the side, anywhere but at her. His cheeks burn blue as he chews on his lower lip, shaking his head once.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He blows out a disgruntled breath, ruffling the stray lock of hair over his forehead. "It's- Cyberlife. They...equipped me with the Traci protocols. And the hardware." God, so embarrassing. What must she think of him? Barely kissing and he's already right there. Fucking Cyberlife. His arms slide away from her to cross over his chest so he can hug himself, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. The flush has spread to encompass the whole of his face and neck, disappearing into his shirt. He mumbles, so low she might strain to hear him. "I didn't mean for that to happen. It's an automatic response." And he's currently working to disengage those protocols, easier said than done when they're hardwired into him and he doesn't have the experience necessary to at least temper his reactions. And Chloe- she means so much more to him than that -not that he could prove it to her now. God damn fucking Cyberlife. Again.