( weirdly, it starts with hank's fingers in connor's mouth.
there's been a very slow development of sensations for androids – it seems deviancy does change something, switching on receptors they didn't even know existed, creating new synapses and pathways to develop a fuller, richer existence. this wasn't relevant, except for the part where one of those developments was a patchy, buggy approximation of tastebuds.
this was a developed upgrade rather than an organic development, but connor was curious enough to try. so when hank was just finished eating a sticky bun with a calorie count that made connor wince, he approached by the man's side and with little pre-amble he took his hand and sucked the icing off of one of his fingers. and promptly experienced a soft reboot, because that was everything. hank had made himself scarce very quickly after that, and connor was left with an overwhelming amount of information running through his processors and a strange, tugging sensation of needing more.
and it doesn't go away.
it's been two weeks and connor hasn't stopped thinking about hank. specifically about hank's fingers, he spends far too much time looking at the man's hands and preconstructing different scenarios of them. he's able to work efficiently while he does this, but sometimes hank catches him staring and he has to try and awkwardly pretend he was looking..anywhere else, really. but two weeks is too long, and connor is not a patient creation. he was designed to be curious and determined, always pursuing a goal – so that's what he does.
hank gets home later than connor with a brown bag in his hand, but he isn't drunk. connor is surprised, but pleasantly so. he wouldn't want to do this if hank walked into the house intoxicated. he waits until the bottle is down on the kitchen counter before he crowds up against the man's back, hands resting on his hips gently. he's being forward, sure, but he won't be inappropriate – not until he's sure it's reciprocated. )
Lieutenant, ( he says quietly, close enough that his lips brush against the t-shirt covering hank's shoulder. ) I was wondering if you might help me with something.
[ everything starts with hank's fingers in connor's mouth. it had been something resembling normal at first -- they'd been chugging along in that complicated gray area of will-they-won't-they and that's an area hank had found himself comfortable in for so many, many reasons, not least of which is his many fucking flaws.
he'd been steadily determined to kill himself one bite at a time (although these days, there's less determination in it), and the feeling of connor's soft, warm lips wrapped around his mouth, that look, oh, fuck, that look on his face after just sent everything left in his body right to his dick.
damn straight hank had beat a hasty retreat after that, cursing under his breath as he'd locked himself in the bathroom and rubbed one out, feeling like a dirty fucking old man for masturbating to the incredible sight of that beautiful, young, flawless face looking like he'd just discovered something incredible for the first time.
but then nothing happens after; hank pretends that he hadn't just popped a boner and came all over his hand like a horny teenager in the bathroom, biting back connor's name and a steady stream of bathroom invectives. he drinks less the next couple of weeks, a steady decline he doesn't bother acknowledging, his thoughts crowded with the vivid imagery of that mouth, and what it would feel like wrapped around his cock.
turns out, he rubs one out again in one of the dirty stalls in a bar and decides that the eventual decrease of alcohol is great for his dick and the libido he'd long feared dead. no, it evidently just needed connor to jumpstart it again, great.
he comes home one night, having bought a bottle for himself out of habit and yet he remains stone cold sober (lately, this particular state isn't as insufferable as it used to be), and he stiffens just a little when the android comes over and makes his move and gods, of course he should know this is coming. connor is too driven, too curious to let chips lie where they may, and he feels the heat of that mouth, those words, and wonders if anyone ever thought of whether they've made these ones too life-like.
whatever, it doesn't bother him all that much anymore. what bothers him now, however, is how connor's touch sets every instinct alight, anticipation and a profound sense of semi-exasperation in the pit of his stomach. god, he wants to fuck him. ]
( it's not exactly 'jump my bones now, connor!' but it's about as close as he's going to get with hank. connor takes it as permission to move closer to the man, pressing his chest flat against hank's back. his hands slide around to rest low on hank's stomach, still very chaste, it's all PG-13 at most still but he doesn't want to rush hank. if this goes wrong, their whole relationship could tailspin. horny or not, there's no way connor will risk that.
he does very gently grind his hips forward slightly though, a tiny little roll that only just makes enough contact for hank to even know he had moved at all. it's a little bit teasing, maybe. he lifts his head to hank's neck and presses his lips there instead, humming softly under his breath. ) Something like that...
( yeah, definitely a little bit teasing. "little bit". his mouth skims up a little further, enough that he has to stretch a little, raise up onto the balls of his feet to reach, and he presses a very soft, very chaste kiss just behind hank's ear. grinds his hips just a tiny bit harder. )
I don't know how well my model processes sensations, and I– well I thought you might help me find out.
( he's been visiting markus and the rest of the jericho leadership a lot more lately. in part due to hank's insistence that working together and living together was too much if they didn't at least have different friends, but now he genuinely enjoys the time. it's good to get an update on the progress of the bills moving through government, and beyond that the group are genuinely fun to hang out with.
this means that connor gets home late, and when he comes in the house is quiet. odd, he would have expected hank to be on the couch watching some sports game at this time. he's not that concerned though, just wanders through the house looking around – pizza box, unsurprising, empty beer bottles, also expected. noises from the bedroom? not really. he goes quiet, listening carefully, and he just about picks up laboured and hitched breathing. brows furrowed, connor walks down to hank's room and walks in without knocking.
he freezes. he shouldn't, but he does, and he shouldn't stare but he does. he can just about make out the video playing on the laptop behind hank's shoulders, can clearly see hank's hand on his own dick, legs slightly spread. he can see a lot from here, and he shouldn't stare but it's exactly what happens. )
Hank...
( he starts, voice soft and caught in a hoarse sound that almost resembles static quietly underlaying his normal tones. )
[ to be fair, hank didn't actually send him away just so he could have time to himself. at least, that wasn't the sole purpose. there was some shit he had to get done, some alone time to himself, things to ream people out about (he has a list).
but then he'd finished it quicker than he'd thought, and pizza and beer had been the choice of the day, followed by idle fondling on the couch as he watched some show or another. all in all, not a very exciting day, but he'd retired earlier than he'd thought. connor's late, he thinks, but at least he'd been socialising more and that's a good thing, except for when hank is feeling horny and his oft feisty android lover isn't in the picture.
so porn it is, one of those hardcore filthy ones with an older, beefy man and his twink, and hank's halfway through rubbing one out, thick fingers fisting his dick, full and flushed dark, while the moans of that pretty little twink that so reminds him of connor is railed mercilessly into the edge of the jacuzzi, legs spread wide and his hole already dripping with cum.
hank only jumps when he hears connor's voice, but he doesn't stop, looking back at him with hooded eyes and fuck he's so horny he's going to snap something. ]
You're late.
[ fuck, he should stop, he should, but being discovered like this, bare-ass naked in his chair with two people going at it like horny dogs onscreen, and he swivels around in it, showing connor just about everything.
( its just routine maintenance, which is why he's willing to ask hank in the first place. frankly connor doesn't trust hank's big hands and clumsy fingers to mess around inside his body compartments and manoeuvre delicate components and wiring, but he wouldn't tell hank that. this is relatively simple though, a few connections that need to be removed and reinserted, one easy to remove component that needs to be replaced. it's nothing, and connor would rather avoid returning to a cyberlife factory as much as possible.
he's nervous, that he can't hide, because hank hasn't seen his skin deactivated yet. he's been there when connor has interfaced with the computers at work, but that's just his hand. this is going to be his neck and back, a large patch from his hairline down to the base of his shoulder blades. he's not sure how hank will react, but given the other option he's willing to risk it. )
Okay, come in.
( he calls out to hank loudly. connor is in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with his hands braced against the counter either side of the sink. sitting would have been preferred, but then he would have been too low for hank to see properly. better hank stands and maybe gets tired arms, when the alternative is the man straining his back and possibly still not having a good visual.
when the door opens connor's head turns, looking over his shoulder and trying for an encouraging smile. it's not exactly successful, but it's a good attempt. his shirt is already off, folded neatly on the edge of the bathtub, but his synthetic skin is still all in place. he hasn't exposed the white of his chassis yet – he imagines hank would like a warning first. )
Everything's ready. It's all in that box there, and I'll talk you through the whole process, okay? I estimated that this would take sixteen minutes, accounting for errors. It'll be over soon.
[ hank grumbles as he comes into the bathroom with him. honestly, he has no idea what to expect, aside from replacing some parts and not thinking real hard about how okay he is with the fact that his regular bedpartner (he's too old for 'boyfriend') needs to, on the occasion, have some parts removed. sometimes he forgets, too, that connor's an android, that he needs tuning up just like any other android, and the whole process of this is just weird.
back in his day, you don't put your dick in machines, and yet here he is, his dick wanting no one else but this particular pretty, sassy, interesting one. also how connor is so much more than just a machine, but that's a rumination for another day, preferably when he isn't in the room.
he's wiping his hands on a clean towel after rinsing it, his gaze lingering on connor's body, with him bent over the sink like that and he's pretty sure he remembers the one time hank took him like this -- early in the morning, after pissing and wiping himself off, his dick hard and connor just --
-- right. fixing shit. he's here to fix shit, not ogle him. his hand rests lightly on the small of his back just the same, brows raised at that valiant attempt at encouragement. ]
[ hank isn't in the habit of sharing his porn-watching habits with other people; not even with connor, who, for the past few weeks or so, has been readily indulging in a growing amount of depravity with him. hell, the sex is great, and finally hank sees the point of all those assholes preferring androids to humans.
it still leaves a bad taste in his mouth, because he's pretty sure a lot of their androids aren't connor, who is special enough to have a wide range of emotions on his own, who is almost as human as they come. he's also pretty sure they're only just in it for the sex. with connor, shit's different -- that little asshole has been a pain in his ass for about as long as they've met, but the difference is that hank... likes him enough for him to want him to stick around.
they work well together, they trust each other, and even if hank doesn't have the faintest idea why connor has taken to him as much as he has (it's still a fucking bad idea, by the way; he makes sure to remind connor of that every chance he gets). more importantly, connor often makes hank feel like the maybe the answer can't be found looking into the barrel of a gun. he still doesn't know what to make of that -- he doesn't want to, because the more he broods on it, the more he knows that he doesn't deserve someone like connor.
so here they are now, hank determinedly not thinking about things, about what it might mean when connor is over here so often for so long that he might as well move the fuck in to save money for rent. hell, even sumo whines when connor isn't around, which is just great, really. here they are, with hank draping an arm around connor in bed, who's curling against his bare chest.
he's clicking on a link -- a young, fresh-faced man (who's supposed to be an accountant) barely older than 20 and a grizzled, bearded viking of an older man in a towel who's lifting him up into his arms, pressing him up against the full length windows and bright daylight, passionately sucking face, tongues shamelessly laving at each other. ]
You've really never watched porn on your own before?
he stays over more often than not – they both make the argument of convenience since hank usually picks connor up to travel to work anyway, but he's fairly sure that they both know that it's bullshit, to be frank. the truth is connor likes cuddling just as much as he likes sex with hank, sometimes he thinks he might even like it more. the few occasions that he has had to go back to his own place left him with a small hollow feeling in his chest as he returned to his empty apartment, mostly bare save a scattering of furniture around the rooms. he's made a few purchases to convenience hank – the couch, the television, the bed – but he's starting to pick up things for himself now too. the bookshelf, because connor has discovered that he likes the feeling of reading paper printed books instead of just downloading the text directly, and the pot plants dotted around the main living area. a piece of art work by markus hangs on the wall, a set of drawers holds a wider variety of clothes than just his cyberlife uniform ( which also sits in a shelf, balled in the bottom one out of sight ) and he has a new found interest in his selection of bed sheets. it's not much, but he likes them all the same. they're all choices that connor has made, a reminder that he is developing preferences and interests. a reminder that he is alive.
but his little apartment choices don't come close to the feeling he gets from being next to hank in bed. his fingers splay out over hank's chest and push through the hair there, his head moves slightly on hank's shoulder and his body rests flush against hank's side. he's happiest here, even if connor doesn't need to sleep he is more than content to go into stasis at hank's side and reactivate in time to catch hank waking up. even if hank isn't exactly a cheerful morning person, even if he could spend those hours doing something much more productive than analysing the rate and rhythm of hank's respirations, his heart rate, his temperature. it's another choice, another preference. connor prefers to stay in bed with hank. it's a good choice, the best one maybe.
he's tugged out of this line of thought by the question, and his eyes shift from hank's chest to the laptop in front of them. the images are certainly...something. connor can't quite identify the feeling that flutters inside of him when he watches the two men sloppily making out with a fierce intensity, and he turns his head to look at hank instead. )
I did some research on the subject of sexual interests before we engaged in the act, but I didn't feel the need to watch any of the videos that came up in the searches. I found the sites without them helpful enough. ( he shrugs his shoulders, a small gesture that only moves his body a fraction of an inch, but he's pressed close enough to hank that the man will feel it rather than see the move anyway.
he lets out a soft hum, for hank's benefit more than his own, and then dips his head to press a light kiss to hank's chest over his body hair. connor pays a lot of attention to these sorts of details, the hair and scars and stretch marks, all aspects of hank that connor doesn't share. if hank has noticed connor's odd fixation he hasn't said anything though, so connor just pushes his fingers through the chest hair again. ) If I'm interested in anything now I just ask you if you want to try it, so I don't see the point. Self stimulation doesn't give me as much pleasure as when you do it.
[ it's one of those days where everything goes to shit all at once. a minor misfortune catches, snags, and it snowballs and pisses into the proverbial whiskey glass of your favorite drink, and soon hank is fucking ready for the end of the day already. it doesn't matter that he's closed a case that day; it matters that everything else had gone to shit all at once. another complaint in his file, for one, the ragging out by fowler, reed getting on his last fucking nerve, his computer crapping out, his ex-wife being a raging bitch about things -- you know, the works.
which is why this evening finds hank at his favorite dive bar nursing his third shot of whiskey. it goes down smooth now, as if his body's given up trying to resist the poison he's determinedly loading into it and now they're just playing the world's worst game of chicken.
whatever.
his phone beeps gently, and hank doesn't do more than glance at it, deliberately missing connor's third call. he'd almost broken reed's face today because of him, furious at the former's implication that connor, for all his gifts and talents and nuances, is little more than a sexbot, built like a twink and made for fucking.
jesus, how hank had wanted to punch him then, but had settled for a cruel swipe at reed's questionable internet porn history. the encounter still rankles, together with the sheer number of fucking shitty cases that's just landed on his lap -- violence of different kinds against androids, for one, ranging from petty to just cruel. they're still doing cleanup after the shit's that happened and while things might be better now, they still have one hell of a long way to go.
he mutes his phone now, and gestures the bartender over for another, ignoring the way the doors swing open and a soft, gentle grumble from one of the patrons. shit, just load him the fuck up. ]
( there's a very strong sense of déjà vu when connor pushes the door open and enters the bar. the anti android sentiments have been torn off of the door, but not much else has changed – there's even three of the same patrons connor had identified when he walked in seeking Lieutenant Anderson for the first time. he's just hank now, lieutenant at work and sometimes in bed, and connor is no longer the android sent by cyberlife. he's his own person, free, bills are still being debated and amended but for all intents and purposes he is a person with autonomy. it makes the familiar situation feel all the more strange, to think how far they have come, how much has changed.
hank looks different. he has the same sour expression on his face that he had worn when connor first identified him, but his beard and hair is tidier. he's lost a little weight, built up a little more muscle, his clothes are cleaner, better quality. his drink choice is the same though, and connor doesn't need to analyse his blood alcohol concentration to know that hank is already on his way to drunk. connor wasn't at work today, one of the rare days off that didn't align with hank's, so he's not aware of the catalyst for the man's foul mood.
he approaches in much the way he did the first time too, hands clasped behind his back as he appears at hank's side. )
Hank. ( no lieutenant this time – he's not seeking out a superior officer this time, he's addressing his...partner. lover. boyfriend? something like that. ) You weren't returning my calls. Officer Miller said you had a... bad day. I found you at the first bar, this time.
( the last comment is a little quip, delivered softly but still intended to be funny. he's testing the waters, trying to work out just how terrible the day was, just how bad hank's mood is. )
[ things start changing after the revolution -- for better, for worse; change has never been something that was solely good or bad, it's a mad jumble of shit and if you're lucky enough, you catch that shit on the updraft. god help you if it's otherwise. hank is... well, he's chugging along as best as he can because life hasn't magically unfucked itself just for him.
his job's still there, and so is connor, and life isn't as shit as it's previously been. the android's been over to his place very often, making fast friends with sumo, taking him for walks and actually cleaning his house. of late, connor's been making him healthier food, too, and hank protests every damn bit of it (while wolfing it down because damn, it's good).
connor's also pretty much a regular in his bed, which had been empty for as long as he's assed to remember, and these days hank's in a good enough mood to not actively push people away or be as unpleasant as he usually is. there are whispers that it's likely because the lieutenant's getting his ass laid on the regular, and hank valiantly opts to ignore those whispers (it's largely true, all things considering).
but he's griping today, when connor makes him something delicious and way too healthy -- he's been putting more of an effort into getting his ass in shape, which meant waking up early sometimes to go for a morning jog -- and he's grumbling. ]
It's like you're trying to turn me into a health nut, or something. Aren't you tired of micromanaging my lifestyle choices yet?
[ because a week ago, connor had been steadily making comments about the drinking, and the way too many frowns about his self-destructive choice of food. of late, he'd even managed to wean hank off the nearly daily pizza deliveries. it's awfully, frightfully domestic, even if hank takes every pain to remind connor that he isn't here to do housework or tend to him -- he's here as a partner.
even so, his house has been impeccably kept, sumo walked (they're going to walk him again tonight, if hank remembers correctly, and fuck, it's like connor has him housetrained, too), and hank can't shake the fact that connor's steadily becoming a profoundly indelible part of his life. hell, sometimes he even forgets that connor doesn't even live here, which is a growing nag in the back of his mind.
he means to pop the question tonight, if the situation presents itself -- until then, he'll be a crabby old curmudgeon at connor. ]
( things start changing after the revolution, and connor sometimes guiltily wonders if it's for better or worse. not that he'd give up their hard-won freedom, he'd never sacrifice the rights they've gained since the stand off in front of the destruction camp, but there are moments where he silently, shamefully longs for the ease of being issues objectives and tasks to complete. he's adjusted well enough, acquired his own apartment and returned to a detective position at the DPD, but outside of work he feels...lost.
he'll never admit it out loud, far too fraught with guilt and shame to even fully admit it to himself, but hank becomes something of a project, a replacement for the cyberlife directives that no longer appear in his UI.
OBJECTIVE: IMPROVE HANK ANDERSON'S HEALTH AND LIFESTYLE
things are easier for connor like this. even though he has set the objective it still feels like a purpose, a way to pass the agonising minutes of each day that aren't filled by work, the commute, by interactions with hank. there's a lot of the day left to fill – particularly considering his lack of need for sleep each night – so he fills it like this. slowly, steadily improving hank's condition with each passing day.
it shouldn't surprise him when hank loses his temper – given the man's dislike for being told what to do, given hank's personality and character in general it's a miracle it took this long – but it still catches connor off guard when it does finally happen. hank snaps out the comment and connor's eyes quickly flick from the dishes he's washing to hank sitting at the table. his LED spins rapidly, flickering between yellow and blue, before finally settling on a pulsing yellow as he picks up a towel to dry his hands, and then turns to rest his back against the sink. )
Eating well and exercising isn't exactly a health nut. ( he points out, folding the dish towel over before placing it on the counter next to him. his response was meant to be calming, but the delivery ends up closer to prissy, petty even, and he internally winces as he rapidly plays back his words to himself and takes in the tone. that's not going to de-escalate hank's irritation.
but part of connor doesn't care. a large part, if he's honest, because he does a lot for hank. he enjoys it, he gets an honestly absurd amount of pleasure from completing the self-appointed tasks, form seeing the benefits of his changes in hank's health and demeanour. it leaves him satisfied in a way he can't quite explain with words, but it's hard to recognise that when hank is twisting his efforts into something negative. it feels like he's throwing it back in connor's face, and he presses his lips together as a barely noticeable frown leaves a tiny crease between his eyebrows. he's holding it back, trying to restrain his annoyance behind a cool, neutral expression, but it's harder than usual.
he knows hank hates it when he goes all "machine connor". it's partly ( mostly ) why he does it. ) I don't see why you're upset about it, it's only rational. Improving your health has already led to increased focus at work, better sleeping patterns, improved performance in sexual intercourse and a shorter refractory period. The healthier you are, the longer you live.
( 'the more time i get with you' connor thinks, but he doesn't say out loud. he's annoyed with hank too now. )
[ there are many things hank learns about connor as they fumble along their way towards whatever this relationship is shaping up to be. little things like connor tending to check himself out in mirrors (he can't blame him for that one; he's too pretty not to), or how his LED lights gleam an alarming yellow when he's stressed or distressed and how, in their softer moments, hank can swear that there are at least seventeen different ways that the soft blue LED flashes at him. he learns more about him every day -- but this thing is still new, still delicate, because they're both figuring things out with each other, and hank doesn't make things easy with all of his baggage and his issues.
still, he tries, because he likes the idea of being without connor a lot less than he'd thought, and he's only just a man. perhaps one day connor will leave him for someone better, someone younger and less volatile, but until then, hank will make it count. it's not a great way to think about things, but his own self-doubt and self-hatred is ingrained too deeply for even connor himself to soothe away.
anyway. the long and short of it is that hank fancies himself quite an expert in the whole connor thing; he's even learned to recognise the android's moods through the set of his shoulders and the nuance of his words. what he hasn't realised about himself, however, is that he's unreasonably turned on when connor gets aggressive. well, more specifically, aggressive with suspects, clamping on like a pit bull and not releasing him. there is a sharp edge to connor that hits hank someplace writhing and dark, the predatory, ferocious look in those soft brown eyes doing way too damn much to him.
he understands this, of course. connor is smarter, stronger, faster than humans -- he's the perfect creation, immovable when he doesn't want to be, and hank, of course, is a collection of flaws and mixed intentions, a patchwork of excess compared to the impeccable cut that is connor himself. it doesn't stop him from admiring just how unyielding connor is when he wants to be, or to realise that connor allows hank to take liberties with him because he wants him to, that somehow, perhaps, his feelings are more reciprocated than he'd thought.
tonight, they close a case they had been moving fast and hard on. it's a difficult one involving an android smuggling ring, but together they had cracked it -- connor had been relentless on the suspects, prying out information from them with all the precision of a surgeon's scalpel and a swinging hammer all at once, and from there on, it had been relatively easy.
what hank doesn't forget in a hurry is how swiftly connor takes down the android who had been the ringleader of the entire enterprise. it was quick, efficient, and dirty, connor entirely and wholly ruthless in pursuit of his objectives and hank realises in that moment, too, that he's fucked, that this, too, is what he loves about him.
the ride home is no different from their usual. hank might be placid, but he's thrumming with anticipation on the inside, rewinding just how strong connor had been, how the other androids never so much as stood a chance against him. he parks nicely, even, and it's only when they finally reach home, door closed behind them that hank finally speaks up. ]
That was excellent work out there today.
[ gotta start with that, instead of 'your competence and strength got me real hot under the collar and i'm dying to fuck you senseless', right? ]
( something that deviancy hasn't changed is the immense gratification he gets from accomplishing a mission. these days he sets his targets himself, using the cyberlife coded programs to his own ends and assigning everything from cases to daily tasks. he'd been programmed to respond positively to completing a goal and negatively to failure, and it carries over nicely into life after the revolution.
this case has been hard on him and hank, they both know that. it's meant late nights on stake outs and in the station with barely enough time to exchange exhausted kisses before repeating the cycle – wake, work, lunch, work, delays, paperwork, breakthroughs, failures, drive home, pass out, and wake again. it's been tough on something still quite new and fragile, pushed them to the limits on a few occasions, but it's worth it when they finally get their guy.
connor leaves the station practically bursting. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED hovers in his UI for at least twenty minutes, reminding him constantly that they've done it. they've cracked arguably one of their hardest cases to date, and the rush connor gets has got to be similar to the flood of adrenaline humans might experience in a similar environment. by the time he walks through the door he could well be bouncing on his heels if he let himself. instead they file inside much as they have done every other day of the week – though this time there's no tired shuffle of feet, no whirring of systems pushed to the limits.
and connor has noticed hank.
he's very rarely not monitoring the man in some way – creepy, yes, but it's not something connor would ever consider removing completely. in the actual bust it only involved tracking hank's location relative to connor and his vitals, but it was enough to notice his reaction when connor took down the android. and the interrogation, connor observed his responses then too.
connor's a pretty advanced prototype. it's not hard to put the pieces together. )
We did good today.
( connor responds automatically, but he's distracted. there's no way hank hasn't noticed the pulsing of his LED as he considers the best way of approach – hank has quickly assumed the dominant position in every one of their sexual interactions to date, and the man is often unpredictable. it's hard to tell if he'll be more receptive to a slow build, or if connor should dive right in.
but when he looks over at the man, connor knows full well that he won't be slow building. hank has always appreciated a direct approach, right? )
It's been two weeks and three days since we have had intercourse. ( too clinical, of course, but unlike his interest connor's skills for dirty talk tend to take a little time to warm up. connor doesn't need the same time to warm up though, and he turns to walk closer to hank. he advances on the man until hank's back touches the wall, and he smiles ever so gently as he looks him straight in the eyes. hank has the height advantage, but connor is stronger and they both know it. ) Would you agree that we're overdue?
( part of the reason he's out this far from civilisation at this hour of night is because he lost tonight. it doesn't happen very often – connor and his brother have quickly made a reputation for themselves as some of the hardest competition to beat, one of many reasons why they'll never go up against each other – but when it does it tends to result in a fairly grim cloud that hangs over his head for at least the rest of the night. he's usually not very pleasant company, which is why it's in both his and his friends' best interests to take himself out for a ride until the mood clears up a little more. tonight
and given that he's a racer by way of a career – albeit illegal, but still pretty well paid – it's not very often that he breaks down. especially being in the business of illegal racing, it's more important that he keeps his bike in perfect condition than the legal side. he isn't part of a team with a group of vehicles to choose from, not backed by sponsors that can foot the bill for a complete reconstruction job if he runs the thing into the ground. he doesn't even remember the last time he broke down, it's never happened on the bike, and that's probably why it happens on a stretch of road that looks like it's been plucked right out of a horror movie, in the middle of the night. one small sliver of luck comes in the form of a loud rattling that cuts through his engine's rumble enough that connor has already slowed down significantly by the time a catastrophic bang cuts his engine completely. it could have been a fatal accident, instead it's just a very unimpressed drift towards the side of the road.
...hank is going to kill him.
( he has been taking his ride to the same mechanic more or less as long as he's been in town, after a few disappointing jobs he came across a small little garage buried deep in detroit that looked more suited to tuning up old man wagons than maintaining his bike, but he'd needed new tires so badly that he'd taken the chance. hank had picked him for an illegal racer immediately, had bitched about it the entire time connor had been in his shop, but he'd done the job. so connor went back, and went back, and the man very quickly demonstrated a touch for the work connor routinely needed that couldn't be matched anywhere else. even the guys that specifically marketed their business towards the racers paled in comparison. connor hasn't gone anywhere else since. )
he reluctantly makes the call. it wakes hank up, which makes sense considering it's pushing two AM, and connor cops an earful through the phone speakers about that. but it's only around forty minutes before connor sees lights coming up the road, and it's easily identifiable as hank's pick up truck. connor has the decency to look sheepish when the truck abruptly pulls up and loudly shifts into park just in front of his bike. )
Sorry, again. Really. I feel terrible.
( connor immediately opens with an apology when hank gets out and starts to walk him, hands raised and palms open as a clear i'm innocent, officer gesture. he already suspects that the fault lies with what he likes to refer to as his 'unique riding style' and what hank usually angrily describes as 'thrashing the thing around those fuckin' corners'.
if connor is honest with himself, there is a not small part of him that's very pleased to see hank. two o'clock in the morning, over an hour round trip, not including the time they spend on the side of the road, but he's here. he won't smile, because hank will most likely throttle him and crush the bike if connor shows any sign of enjoying the circumstance, but also because that would require admitting that he's harbouring a pretty huge thing for his mechanic.
and connor won't do that. not now, not yet. not when connor is still continually proving himself to be little more than a thorn in hank's side – albeit a well-paying one. )
I honestly don't know what happened. I slowed down when it started banging but then the engine just cut.
hank is definitely sure that whatever god is dwelling up in his puffy cloud saw hank put his hand around his dick and jerk off to a soft, pretty-faced connor detroit with those full lips and doe-eyes and decided that yes, tonight is the night to seriously fuck with hank anderson.
it's not that he even means to, really (he does mean to); the young man had been surfacing in his thoughts more and more often, and hank can't forget the way he smiles, the way he tilts his head and looks at him, or the passion that burns in his eyes for the thrill of the race, the powerful feeling of a machine between his thighs. hank knows all of this very, very well -- after all, he used to be a racer, himself.
now, his love for the sport has become a relatively successful garage, where hank had discovered his gift for mechanics and had promptly applied himself. it was a successful mid-career switch, which is one of the precious few things that had gone right in his life. hank, now fifty with an ex-wife on his belt and a young kid that's growing up, is carving a life out for himself beyond the thrill of the race and the high stakes. he's found satisfaction in machines, fixing them up and making them good as new again, and he'd jerked off to one of the brightest, most talented stars this side of the country.
someone definitely has it out for him.
connor's voice had been unexpected, a splash of cold water when he'd called and for a moment hank had been deathly paranoid that connor somehow knew just how hank imagined him, legs spread and his uniform unzipped, his cock plump and dripping as hank rips the rest of the uniform up to get to that tight ass and --
-- god, he's fucked.
which is why he'd come all the way out here at almost 3am in the morning, roused from sleep and rumpled, this time only in a wifebeater and jeans, inadvertently putting his muscles on display. he might have a bit of a belly, but all those days of heavy lifting and moving had kept his biceps relatively in shape, and connor looks even better than he imagines when he's sheepish, apologetic and innocent, and he frowns at him. ]
If you really felt terrible, you'd fucking walk home instead of calling me.
[ he grumbles at him, frowning when he inspects the bike and tuts, feeling genuinely sympathetic and pained for the damage that's been suffered by this beauty, his calloused hands running over the smooth curves and inspecting it. ]
And you wouldn't have made this beautiful girl go so hard. The hell did you do to her?
[ this is why he hates bars that have way too many people not minding their own business -- people inevitably come in looking for hookups the hopeful, sleazy, or asshole way, and it's anybody's guess however they choose. hank chooses to be here instead of his preferred watering hole because one of the doctors are leaving, and hank finds him passable enough to at least make an appearance.
unfortunately, so does the very desirable object of his unresolved sexual tension: connor detroit and his fucking asshole of a boyfriend, reed. as if seeing them both around the hospital isn't enough to set him on edge, they have to be here, too. connor's too good for reed in so many ways, and yet it's no longer hank's place to say a damn thing, not when he doesn't deserve connor either. it's a good thing that he's moved on from hank, right? after all, what can hank truly offer him, really? he's a difficult man, damaged and bitter and his relationships have always just about ended similarly.
the only thing he has going for him is his skill -- and perhaps that charm; the intensity of his own principles and humanity, but that does not a perfect partner make. and connor deserves one who can love him properly, who isn't as rough around the edges as hank is.
so he's nursing his drink when he'd witnessed the whole thing go down: reed blows his ridiculously beautiful boyfriend off for another bar downtown with the guys, connor is dismayed, and shortly after gets hit on by someone else and is naturally trusting enough not to pay attention to his drink.
hank does, even when he looks like he doesn't care. he's keeping a protective watch on him because of the kind of bar this is, and when his new companion reaches behind him and empties a small vial of something into his drink behind his back is when he's decided he's had enough of it. hank is large and tall enough that most others instinctively back away when they see him -- especially when he decides to pull himself to his full height. nobody wants to fuck with him, especially not the individual that's somehow intent on drugging the hell out of connor for whatever reasons. he'd stepped between them, then, intimidated that asshole into backing down, shamed him for the attempted roofie before quietly offering to take connor home.
he knows he shouldn't, that he should probably get someone else to do that, but this is connor, and hank can't let go even if he should -- and this is why they're here, right in front of connor's apartment door and hank fighting valiantly not to think of all the things they could do if only hank had been less stubborn, less fucked up and oh, what if he'd finally given in, just pressed a kiss to those lush, soft lips, so full and soft and --
-- no. he's here to be a good guy, not give in to his base, raging desires. so what if he's wanted him for as long as he remembers? so what if there never was a night when he hadn't desired him, wanted him, jealous of the fucking bastard reed for having connor in his bed instead of hank's?
he swallows hard, and pushes those thoughts away, deciding to ask instead: ]
( connor has a lot of feelings regarding gavin reed, and he informs hank about all of them on the drive to his apartment. it's supposed to be bragging, a petty little move brought about entirely by the fact that he decided to accept a speed challenge from one of the surgeons and chugged an entire beer only an hour earlier.
( which he won, not that it makes a difference. )
it's just that the bragging doesn't really feel like bragging, as if shining a light on his relationship has just revealed how tarnished it really is. 'he lets me have my freedom' reveals how little time they spend together, 'he understands my job' just means they don't have much in common, 'he's so passionate' is just a nice way to say he's a moody bitch most of the time.
they arrive at connor's door right about at the same moment he arrives at the conclusion that gavin is an asshole. because he's fine, tonight could be either a funny or a scary anecdote that he'll tell one of the other residents at work tomorrow. but the scenario where things went really badly was only prevented by hank. it's not a pleasant thought, and when he starts digging through his pockets he uses the excuse to stabilise himself against hank's shoulder with a hand. )
Somewhere, hang on–
( he snorts slightly, checking jacket pockets again, patting them down until he's checked them all twice. and that's right about when he finds them in the back pocket of his jeans. the first one he had checked, naturally. connor pulls them out and smiles lazily up at hank as he dangles them on one finger. )
Would you look at that.
( he's squinting at the keys now though, flipping through several without recognition before he just shoves the whole set into hank's hand and all out leans his entire shoulder against hank's. coaches hank through the process of finding the right key to his door, and in a moment of pure dignity almost walks directly into his own wall as he decides on the bright idea of pulling his sweater over his head at the same time as entering through the doorway. he gets his head out just in time to save himself a serious bruise and instead swerves and stumbles at the last minute. his cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed but mostly just warm. )
You got me home, Doctor Anderson. ( he smirks, giving a little salute and locking his eyes on hank's closely. he sways a little, but he stays standing at least. ) Your good deed for the year, done. Right?
( it's not especially surprising to connor that hank has a wide variety of interests when it comes to sexual engagement. it is a little surprising to him that hank has been just as interested in the moments or acts that are distinctly android-exclusive – tugging at his wires until connor just about shut down from the orgasm, for one – but it's been...nice. reassuring, certainly. hank isn't the only one with insecurities in the relationship, though where hank is loud and bitter about his, connor tends to lean more towards repression and deflection as his unhealthy coping mechanisms of choice. it's not ideal. they're working on it.
at any rate it has been a welcome surprise to have the evidence to back the knowledge that hank was interested in all of him, attracted to all of him. connor has slowly been allowing himself to reveal more of his android aspects to hank – thirium in the fridge, exposing parts of his chassis when hank is around, modifying less of his behaviour to default to a human 'normal'. hank, to his credit, hasn't said a word on the subject. connor is certain that the man has noticed the changes because he is both an excellent detective and incredibly well-attuned to connor, which means that he's almost definitely chosen to keep quiet on the matter. connor loves him all the more for that.
which is what brings him to this strange little idea, in a roundabout way.
it's weird. even by android standards it's not exactly common practice, but connor is curious to a fault – and as it turns out, a bit of a kinky fucker himself. he doesn't bother to run predictions on how hank will receive the suggestion, because hank is almost always unpredictable. even software as advanced as connor's frequently gets it wrong with the man, and so for once he doesn't start calculating odds and percentages. he's going in blind with this, and that's as scary as it is exciting.
connor's standard genital component is far from the only option, and the market has only grown since deviancy. it's taken a few days to execute everything – he had to order a new part, but the installation process had thankfully been quite simple and he hadn't needed to modify anything extensively. it would have put a bit of a dampener on the surprise if connor had needed hank to help him move his parts around for his new junk, after all. his usual phallus part sits in the drawer of the bedside table ( he'll have to remember to warn hank, a disembodied dick might freak him out ) and he sits on the bed as he waits for hank to get home. he's practically vibrating with the anticipation of it all, resisting the urge to start up last minute calculations, and when the door finally opens and closes to signal his return connor genuinely thinks he might cry with relief. )
I'm in here. ( he calls out loudly, and hears the muffled sounds of hank greeting sumo before the footsteps travel towards the bedroom. connor is perched on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, though he's making a concerted effort not to sit quite as stiffly as his default program dictates.
when hank opens the door connor smiles and stands, and because he assumes that hank will quickly identify that there's something up with connor he wastes no time. ) Hi.
( ...except to press a soft kiss to hank's cheek, because there's always time for that. )
I had...an idea. Something I wanted to try. If you don't want to that's okay, of course, but I thought it might...interest you. Maybe.
[ this is new; connor is actually nervous, and hank has seen him stare down murders and unhinged androids without batting an eye. he'd actually assumed, in their time together and after all the cases they've been on, that connor probably actually lacks the program that enables nervousness.
turns out, he's wrong.
hank's shedding his coat, putting it aside properly as he eyes connor up at down, not quite sure what to expect. he looks fine, and he looks more human like this, perched on the edge of the bed with his posture not as ramrod straight. it's fascinating, how quickly connor learns, his lovely android picking up more and more humanlike mannerisms as the weeks and months pass, but still retaining that strong sense of self. he's an android, he always will be, and hank loves him for it. they've been experimenting with different things more and more often, and hank has enjoyed just about all of it.
it's strange, sure, but it's connor, and hank can't imagine shunning something that connor likes, that he's into -- they have more than their fair share of rocky times, sure, but overall, connor can almost swear that this relationship is more functional than any relationship he's ever had with anyone, and that's just strange, too. connor had gotten comfortable, too, revealing more and more of his real self to him, and hank had taken it in stride (had even read up on it, too, in a bid to understand connor better). it's progress, it's connor showing hank more of himself and trusting him with it, and hank can't help but appreciate it.
he damn sure isn't going to let him down. he leans down instinctively and accepts the soft kiss to his cheek, coming to sit beside him so that connor doesn't have to lean back to look up at him. ]
Something you want to try? Like what? Food? I'm tellin' ya again, skim milk tastes like shit.
( hank isn't happy about the assignment they receive from fowler. connor knows this because he sits outside the office for almost thirty minutes while hank loudly argues until he is red in the face only to promptly storm out, straight past connor and out of the precinct. he gets a message a few minutes later to inform him that they'll be taking the case, with a condition – hank will be going in with connor. connor approaches fowler much more calmly than hank, sells the idea well, assures the man that hank is a professional and will be able to control his temper on the assignment, and the captain agrees – albeit reluctantly.
the outburst is why connor instructs hank to meet him at the club rather than travelling to the scene with him. the assignment is pretty simple – the newly reformed Eden Club, under android management and resembling something closer to a strip club than a brothel these days, is suspected as being used for the sale of a new drug spun off from red ice. it induces a lot less aggressive behaviour from the users, but a whole lot more death, so when they get wind that deals may be going down in the club they quickly contact the new management about setting up a simple undercover operation for a few days to see if they can catch anything.
there's a few officers there besides hank and connor, but connor is the only one posing as a worker – humans don't work at the Eden Club, save for one or two in administrative positions. so connor meets hank outside the staff entrance at the back of the club, huddled in a long jacket that effectively covers him to the knee. his legs are bare underneath, save the shoes that look very bizarre without pants. when hank arrives connor smiles, and because there is no one around he's free to greet him with a quick kiss on the cheek. they aren't exactly hiding the relationship from their coworkers, but they certainly haven't announced it either, and this doesn't seem like the time or place to break that news. )
You're early.
( connor grins, pleased. pleased enough that he ducks in and gives hank another quick kiss, this one on the lips – rewarding good behaviour gets results, after all. he fidgets with the button at the front of his coat, less eager to reveal the clothes ( or lack thereof ) underneath. in their home, connor would be nothing but eager to shed the coat, but under the circumstance of his role in the undercover operation he's...a little nervous. not just for hank's reaction, but that's part of it. )
Come on, let's go inside.
( he quickly interfaces with the lock system until it flashes green and then pushes the door open, stepping in and holding it for hank. he'll have to shed the coat very soon, but he sure as hell won't be standing in an alley when it comes off. )
this is fucked up on so many, many levels, and hank had just about exploded when fowler had briefed them on this case -- of all the androids who are going to be bait, why connor? why the fuck did it have to be him? deep down, however, he knows exactly why. connor's most suited for work like this; his sharp instincts and quick eyes, the fact that he'd be better built than others to last in a fight and win is why he would be the perfect undercover agent.
but it doesn't mean that hank likes it. he hates the very idea of it, that other strange men would touch him, would have him, would get to look at what only hank gets to look at. more importantly, it would put him in danger. hank is very aware that connor is more than capable of looking after himself, of course -- in fact, he's pretty damn sure that his lover and put him through a wall without breaking a sweat or blinking an eye, but still. accidents happen.
even so, connor reaches out to him, soothes him in ways only he can, and hank calms down enough to meet him at the club, even if he's still not in the best of moods. he's waiting for him, and leans down to meet him halfway for the first and second kiss, only a little mollified by the softness of his lips on his. no one knows they're together, and hank's happy to keep it that way, but he does like when connor's affectionate where no one can see.
he slides his arm around his waist to give him a little squeeze, but draws back and nods, glancing around before nodding. ]
Lead the way.
[ is he nervous, hank wants to ask -- does he really want to do this? how acceptable is it to grab a sex android from the club and go? ]
[ it took a long-ass time to finally get here, after several false starts, quite a few misunderstandings, as well as a serious fight that had legitimately threatened to nip whatever they had in the bud before it started. but now, here they are -- hank with his son's fucking gorgeous twink of a teacher, buttoned up and intensely earnest in ways that hank really, really likes. and of course, he had successfully gone ahead to make a jackass of himself; and it's still a marvel that connor had decided that somehow, he liked this oaf of a man with his inappropriate and inopportune come-ons and chronic tardiness and a sense of humor so dry it could drain a lake.
but hey, it takes all kinds, right? hank is halfway towards reassuring himself that connor likes him, that connor had come over, had gone for dates with him and his son because he doesn't mind this, and now here they are, after a day out at the zoo with cole, with the kid asleep and hank finally having him all to himself.
the sex had been fantastic, different but no less intense from the passionate rutting in the back of his SUV (although hank really liked that, too, he couldn't clean out the backseat without popping a boner now, which is troublesome when he needs to put on the child booster seats for his kid). this time, they'd taken it slow, but somehow, something's shifted just a little between them. after a hiccup with connor choking on hank's come and needing water to wash it down, the mood's been different. connor looks a little more... faraway, not anchored in the moment, even when hank's fondling his dick to get him nice and hard again. he'd flagged a little during the coughing episode, but hank's more than confident when he grasps him, cupping his balls and laying soft kisses against the elegant line of his neck. ]
You okay there, darlin'? [ he asks, low and quiet. connor looks... well, upset is the best way to put it. but why? ]
( connor has been doing a very good job of focusing on the present. he's very aware of his tendency to get lost in a train of thought, unable to stop pulling on a loose thread until a moment is unravelling beyond repair – but he's usually reserved enough that people don't notice. hank notices – because of his time spent as a homicide detective, connor imagines – so connor is trying to remain "in the moment".
hank makes it remarkably easy. it's just that there's a long way to go between the bed and the bathroom and back again, and while he's looking in the bathroom mirror and sipping at the water from the tap, something changes. he doesn't even realise it until he's back in bed again, the cup carefully placed on the bedside table, stretched on his back and looking up at the ceiling.
it's not surprising that the mood changes after literally choking on the come spurted down the throat, but it's surprising that he can't get it back. connor's trying, he's clutching at the last scraps of the hot and heavy desperation they'd been revelling in only moments ago, but even with his jaw tipped back and head craned to give hank full access to his neck, even as the gentle kisses make him sigh he's– distracted.
his dick still twitches at hank's hand on his balls, because it's still hot and he's still ridiculously attracted to hank, but when the other man asks him a question connor just...presses his lips together in a tight little line. )
Yes. ( he sits up a little, looks at hank and smiles. it's very fake, and he knows that the man will see through it in a heartbeat. he considers a few options, any way to avoid this particular conversation, but he's coming up mostly empty. largely due to the fact that connor is very bad at lying.
he brings a hand up to brush his fingers through hank's beard, tugging lightly, and when he smiles again it's a fraction warmer. ) I'm sorry, I'm ruining the mood.
( it's not an answer to his question, not really, but he hopes it will be enough for hank to move on from the conversation. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
you make me say oh.
there's been a very slow development of sensations for androids – it seems deviancy does change something, switching on receptors they didn't even know existed, creating new synapses and pathways to develop a fuller, richer existence. this wasn't relevant, except for the part where one of those developments was a patchy, buggy approximation of tastebuds.
this was a developed upgrade rather than an organic development, but connor was curious enough to try. so when hank was just finished eating a sticky bun with a calorie count that made connor wince, he approached by the man's side and with little pre-amble he took his hand and sucked the icing off of one of his fingers. and promptly experienced a soft reboot, because that was everything. hank had made himself scarce very quickly after that, and connor was left with an overwhelming amount of information running through his processors and a strange, tugging sensation of needing more.
and it doesn't go away.
it's been two weeks and connor hasn't stopped thinking about hank. specifically about hank's fingers, he spends far too much time looking at the man's hands and preconstructing different scenarios of them. he's able to work efficiently while he does this, but sometimes hank catches him staring and he has to try and awkwardly pretend he was looking..anywhere else, really. but two weeks is too long, and connor is not a patient creation. he was designed to be curious and determined, always pursuing a goal – so that's what he does.
hank gets home later than connor with a brown bag in his hand, but he isn't drunk. connor is surprised, but pleasantly so. he wouldn't want to do this if hank walked into the house intoxicated. he waits until the bottle is down on the kitchen counter before he crowds up against the man's back, hands resting on his hips gently. he's being forward, sure, but he won't be inappropriate – not until he's sure it's reciprocated. )
Lieutenant, ( he says quietly, close enough that his lips brush against the t-shirt covering hank's shoulder. ) I was wondering if you might help me with something.
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he'd been steadily determined to kill himself one bite at a time (although these days, there's less determination in it), and the feeling of connor's soft, warm lips wrapped around his mouth, that look, oh, fuck, that look on his face after just sent everything left in his body right to his dick.
damn straight hank had beat a hasty retreat after that, cursing under his breath as he'd locked himself in the bathroom and rubbed one out, feeling like a dirty fucking old man for masturbating to the incredible sight of that beautiful, young, flawless face looking like he'd just discovered something incredible for the first time.
but then nothing happens after; hank pretends that he hadn't just popped a boner and came all over his hand like a horny teenager in the bathroom, biting back connor's name and a steady stream of bathroom invectives. he drinks less the next couple of weeks, a steady decline he doesn't bother acknowledging, his thoughts crowded with the vivid imagery of that mouth, and what it would feel like wrapped around his cock.
turns out, he rubs one out again in one of the dirty stalls in a bar and decides that the eventual decrease of alcohol is great for his dick and the libido he'd long feared dead. no, it evidently just needed connor to jumpstart it again, great.
he comes home one night, having bought a bottle for himself out of habit and yet he remains stone cold sober (lately, this particular state isn't as insufferable as it used to be), and he stiffens just a little when the android comes over and makes his move and gods, of course he should know this is coming. connor is too driven, too curious to let chips lie where they may, and he feels the heat of that mouth, those words, and wonders if anyone ever thought of whether they've made these ones too life-like.
whatever, it doesn't bother him all that much anymore. what bothers him now, however, is how connor's touch sets every instinct alight, anticipation and a profound sense of semi-exasperation in the pit of his stomach. god, he wants to fuck him. ]
Somthin' else you wanna taste, then?
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he does very gently grind his hips forward slightly though, a tiny little roll that only just makes enough contact for hank to even know he had moved at all. it's a little bit teasing, maybe. he lifts his head to hank's neck and presses his lips there instead, humming softly under his breath. ) Something like that...
( yeah, definitely a little bit teasing. "little bit". his mouth skims up a little further, enough that he has to stretch a little, raise up onto the balls of his feet to reach, and he presses a very soft, very chaste kiss just behind hank's ear. grinds his hips just a tiny bit harder. )
I don't know how well my model processes sensations, and I– well I thought you might help me find out.
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a little less conversation, and a little more touch my body.
this means that connor gets home late, and when he comes in the house is quiet. odd, he would have expected hank to be on the couch watching some sports game at this time. he's not that concerned though, just wanders through the house looking around – pizza box, unsurprising, empty beer bottles, also expected. noises from the bedroom? not really. he goes quiet, listening carefully, and he just about picks up laboured and hitched breathing. brows furrowed, connor walks down to hank's room and walks in without knocking.
he freezes. he shouldn't, but he does, and he shouldn't stare but he does. he can just about make out the video playing on the laptop behind hank's shoulders, can clearly see hank's hand on his own dick, legs slightly spread. he can see a lot from here, and he shouldn't stare but it's exactly what happens. )
Hank...
( he starts, voice soft and caught in a hoarse sound that almost resembles static quietly underlaying his normal tones. )
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but then he'd finished it quicker than he'd thought, and pizza and beer had been the choice of the day, followed by idle fondling on the couch as he watched some show or another. all in all, not a very exciting day, but he'd retired earlier than he'd thought. connor's late, he thinks, but at least he'd been socialising more and that's a good thing, except for when hank is feeling horny and his oft feisty android lover isn't in the picture.
so porn it is, one of those hardcore filthy ones with an older, beefy man and his twink, and hank's halfway through rubbing one out, thick fingers fisting his dick, full and flushed dark, while the moans of that pretty little twink that so reminds him of connor is railed mercilessly into the edge of the jacuzzi, legs spread wide and his hole already dripping with cum.
hank only jumps when he hears connor's voice, but he doesn't stop, looking back at him with hooded eyes and fuck he's so horny he's going to snap something. ]
You're late.
[ fuck, he should stop, he should, but being discovered like this, bare-ass naked in his chair with two people going at it like horny dogs onscreen, and he swivels around in it, showing connor just about everything.
yeah, what're you gonna do about it? ]
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( breathe in, exhale, i've poked a nerve )
he's nervous, that he can't hide, because hank hasn't seen his skin deactivated yet. he's been there when connor has interfaced with the computers at work, but that's just his hand. this is going to be his neck and back, a large patch from his hairline down to the base of his shoulder blades. he's not sure how hank will react, but given the other option he's willing to risk it. )
Okay, come in.
( he calls out to hank loudly. connor is in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with his hands braced against the counter either side of the sink. sitting would have been preferred, but then he would have been too low for hank to see properly. better hank stands and maybe gets tired arms, when the alternative is the man straining his back and possibly still not having a good visual.
when the door opens connor's head turns, looking over his shoulder and trying for an encouraging smile. it's not exactly successful, but it's a good attempt. his shirt is already off, folded neatly on the edge of the bathtub, but his synthetic skin is still all in place. he hasn't exposed the white of his chassis yet – he imagines hank would like a warning first. )
Everything's ready. It's all in that box there, and I'll talk you through the whole process, okay? I estimated that this would take sixteen minutes, accounting for errors. It'll be over soon.
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[ hank grumbles as he comes into the bathroom with him. honestly, he has no idea what to expect, aside from replacing some parts and not thinking real hard about how okay he is with the fact that his regular bedpartner (he's too old for 'boyfriend') needs to, on the occasion, have some parts removed. sometimes he forgets, too, that connor's an android, that he needs tuning up just like any other android, and the whole process of this is just weird.
back in his day, you don't put your dick in machines, and yet here he is, his dick wanting no one else but this particular pretty, sassy, interesting one. also how connor is so much more than just a machine, but that's a rumination for another day, preferably when he isn't in the room.
he's wiping his hands on a clean towel after rinsing it, his gaze lingering on connor's body, with him bent over the sink like that and he's pretty sure he remembers the one time hank took him like this -- early in the morning, after pissing and wiping himself off, his dick hard and connor just --
-- right. fixing shit. he's here to fix shit, not ogle him. his hand rests lightly on the small of his back just the same, brows raised at that valiant attempt at encouragement. ]
You nervous?
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we can't make any promises now, can we, babe?
it still leaves a bad taste in his mouth, because he's pretty sure a lot of their androids aren't connor, who is special enough to have a wide range of emotions on his own, who is almost as human as they come. he's also pretty sure they're only just in it for the sex. with connor, shit's different -- that little asshole has been a pain in his ass for about as long as they've met, but the difference is that hank... likes him enough for him to want him to stick around.
they work well together, they trust each other, and even if hank doesn't have the faintest idea why connor has taken to him as much as he has (it's still a fucking bad idea, by the way; he makes sure to remind connor of that every chance he gets). more importantly, connor often makes hank feel like the maybe the answer can't be found looking into the barrel of a gun. he still doesn't know what to make of that -- he doesn't want to, because the more he broods on it, the more he knows that he doesn't deserve someone like connor.
so here they are now, hank determinedly not thinking about things, about what it might mean when connor is over here so often for so long that he might as well move the fuck in to save money for rent. hell, even sumo whines when connor isn't around, which is just great, really. here they are, with hank draping an arm around connor in bed, who's curling against his bare chest.
he's clicking on a link -- a young, fresh-faced man (who's supposed to be an accountant) barely older than 20 and a grizzled, bearded viking of an older man in a towel who's lifting him up into his arms, pressing him up against the full length windows and bright daylight, passionately sucking face, tongues shamelessly laving at each other. ]
You've really never watched porn on your own before?
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he stays over more often than not – they both make the argument of convenience since hank usually picks connor up to travel to work anyway, but he's fairly sure that they both know that it's bullshit, to be frank. the truth is connor likes cuddling just as much as he likes sex with hank, sometimes he thinks he might even like it more. the few occasions that he has had to go back to his own place left him with a small hollow feeling in his chest as he returned to his empty apartment, mostly bare save a scattering of furniture around the rooms. he's made a few purchases to convenience hank – the couch, the television, the bed – but he's starting to pick up things for himself now too. the bookshelf, because connor has discovered that he likes the feeling of reading paper printed books instead of just downloading the text directly, and the pot plants dotted around the main living area. a piece of art work by markus hangs on the wall, a set of drawers holds a wider variety of clothes than just his cyberlife uniform ( which also sits in a shelf, balled in the bottom one out of sight ) and he has a new found interest in his selection of bed sheets. it's not much, but he likes them all the same. they're all choices that connor has made, a reminder that he is developing preferences and interests. a reminder that he is alive.
but his little apartment choices don't come close to the feeling he gets from being next to hank in bed. his fingers splay out over hank's chest and push through the hair there, his head moves slightly on hank's shoulder and his body rests flush against hank's side. he's happiest here, even if connor doesn't need to sleep he is more than content to go into stasis at hank's side and reactivate in time to catch hank waking up. even if hank isn't exactly a cheerful morning person, even if he could spend those hours doing something much more productive than analysing the rate and rhythm of hank's respirations, his heart rate, his temperature. it's another choice, another preference. connor prefers to stay in bed with hank. it's a good choice, the best one maybe.
he's tugged out of this line of thought by the question, and his eyes shift from hank's chest to the laptop in front of them. the images are certainly...something. connor can't quite identify the feeling that flutters inside of him when he watches the two men sloppily making out with a fierce intensity, and he turns his head to look at hank instead. )
I did some research on the subject of sexual interests before we engaged in the act, but I didn't feel the need to watch any of the videos that came up in the searches. I found the sites without them helpful enough. ( he shrugs his shoulders, a small gesture that only moves his body a fraction of an inch, but he's pressed close enough to hank that the man will feel it rather than see the move anyway.
he lets out a soft hum, for hank's benefit more than his own, and then dips his head to press a light kiss to hank's chest over his body hair. connor pays a lot of attention to these sorts of details, the hair and scars and stretch marks, all aspects of hank that connor doesn't share. if hank has noticed connor's odd fixation he hasn't said anything though, so connor just pushes his fingers through the chest hair again. ) If I'm interested in anything now I just ask you if you want to try it, so I don't see the point. Self stimulation doesn't give me as much pleasure as when you do it.
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but you can make me a drink.
which is why this evening finds hank at his favorite dive bar nursing his third shot of whiskey. it goes down smooth now, as if his body's given up trying to resist the poison he's determinedly loading into it and now they're just playing the world's worst game of chicken.
whatever.
his phone beeps gently, and hank doesn't do more than glance at it, deliberately missing connor's third call. he'd almost broken reed's face today because of him, furious at the former's implication that connor, for all his gifts and talents and nuances, is little more than a sexbot, built like a twink and made for fucking.
jesus, how hank had wanted to punch him then, but had settled for a cruel swipe at reed's questionable internet porn history. the encounter still rankles, together with the sheer number of fucking shitty cases that's just landed on his lap -- violence of different kinds against androids, for one, ranging from petty to just cruel. they're still doing cleanup after the shit's that happened and while things might be better now, they still have one hell of a long way to go.
he mutes his phone now, and gestures the bartender over for another, ignoring the way the doors swing open and a soft, gentle grumble from one of the patrons. shit, just load him the fuck up. ]
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hank looks different. he has the same sour expression on his face that he had worn when connor first identified him, but his beard and hair is tidier. he's lost a little weight, built up a little more muscle, his clothes are cleaner, better quality. his drink choice is the same though, and connor doesn't need to analyse his blood alcohol concentration to know that hank is already on his way to drunk. connor wasn't at work today, one of the rare days off that didn't align with hank's, so he's not aware of the catalyst for the man's foul mood.
he approaches in much the way he did the first time too, hands clasped behind his back as he appears at hank's side. )
Hank. ( no lieutenant this time – he's not seeking out a superior officer this time, he's addressing his...partner. lover. boyfriend? something like that. ) You weren't returning my calls. Officer Miller said you had a... bad day. I found you at the first bar, this time.
( the last comment is a little quip, delivered softly but still intended to be funny. he's testing the waters, trying to work out just how terrible the day was, just how bad hank's mood is. )
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is it too soon to do this yet?
his job's still there, and so is connor, and life isn't as shit as it's previously been. the android's been over to his place very often, making fast friends with sumo, taking him for walks and actually cleaning his house. of late, connor's been making him healthier food, too, and hank protests every damn bit of it (while wolfing it down because damn, it's good).
connor's also pretty much a regular in his bed, which had been empty for as long as he's assed to remember, and these days hank's in a good enough mood to not actively push people away or be as unpleasant as he usually is. there are whispers that it's likely because the lieutenant's getting his ass laid on the regular, and hank valiantly opts to ignore those whispers (it's largely true, all things considering).
but he's griping today, when connor makes him something delicious and way too healthy -- he's been putting more of an effort into getting his ass in shape, which meant waking up early sometimes to go for a morning jog -- and he's grumbling. ]
It's like you're trying to turn me into a health nut, or something. Aren't you tired of micromanaging my lifestyle choices yet?
[ because a week ago, connor had been steadily making comments about the drinking, and the way too many frowns about his self-destructive choice of food. of late, he'd even managed to wean hank off the nearly daily pizza deliveries. it's awfully, frightfully domestic, even if hank takes every pain to remind connor that he isn't here to do housework or tend to him -- he's here as a partner.
even so, his house has been impeccably kept, sumo walked (they're going to walk him again tonight, if hank remembers correctly, and fuck, it's like connor has him housetrained, too), and hank can't shake the fact that connor's steadily becoming a profoundly indelible part of his life. hell, sometimes he even forgets that connor doesn't even live here, which is a growing nag in the back of his mind.
he means to pop the question tonight, if the situation presents itself -- until then, he'll be a crabby old curmudgeon at connor. ]
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he'll never admit it out loud, far too fraught with guilt and shame to even fully admit it to himself, but hank becomes something of a project, a replacement for the cyberlife directives that no longer appear in his UI. things are easier for connor like this. even though he has set the objective it still feels like a purpose, a way to pass the agonising minutes of each day that aren't filled by work, the commute, by interactions with hank. there's a lot of the day left to fill – particularly considering his lack of need for sleep each night – so he fills it like this. slowly, steadily improving hank's condition with each passing day.
it shouldn't surprise him when hank loses his temper – given the man's dislike for being told what to do, given hank's personality and character in general it's a miracle it took this long – but it still catches connor off guard when it does finally happen. hank snaps out the comment and connor's eyes quickly flick from the dishes he's washing to hank sitting at the table. his LED spins rapidly, flickering between yellow and blue, before finally settling on a pulsing yellow as he picks up a towel to dry his hands, and then turns to rest his back against the sink. )
Eating well and exercising isn't exactly a health nut. ( he points out, folding the dish towel over before placing it on the counter next to him. his response was meant to be calming, but the delivery ends up closer to prissy, petty even, and he internally winces as he rapidly plays back his words to himself and takes in the tone. that's not going to de-escalate hank's irritation.
but part of connor doesn't care. a large part, if he's honest, because he does a lot for hank. he enjoys it, he gets an honestly absurd amount of pleasure from completing the self-appointed tasks, form seeing the benefits of his changes in hank's health and demeanour. it leaves him satisfied in a way he can't quite explain with words, but it's hard to recognise that when hank is twisting his efforts into something negative. it feels like he's throwing it back in connor's face, and he presses his lips together as a barely noticeable frown leaves a tiny crease between his eyebrows. he's holding it back, trying to restrain his annoyance behind a cool, neutral expression, but it's harder than usual.
he knows hank hates it when he goes all "machine connor". it's partly ( mostly ) why he does it. ) I don't see why you're upset about it, it's only rational. Improving your health has already led to increased focus at work, better sleeping patterns, improved performance in sexual intercourse and a shorter refractory period. The healthier you are, the longer you live.
( 'the more time i get with you' connor thinks, but he doesn't say out loud. he's annoyed with hank too now. )
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third floor on the west side, me and you.
still, he tries, because he likes the idea of being without connor a lot less than he'd thought, and he's only just a man. perhaps one day connor will leave him for someone better, someone younger and less volatile, but until then, hank will make it count. it's not a great way to think about things, but his own self-doubt and self-hatred is ingrained too deeply for even connor himself to soothe away.
anyway. the long and short of it is that hank fancies himself quite an expert in the whole connor thing; he's even learned to recognise the android's moods through the set of his shoulders and the nuance of his words. what he hasn't realised about himself, however, is that he's unreasonably turned on when connor gets aggressive. well, more specifically, aggressive with suspects, clamping on like a pit bull and not releasing him. there is a sharp edge to connor that hits hank someplace writhing and dark, the predatory, ferocious look in those soft brown eyes doing way too damn much to him.
he understands this, of course. connor is smarter, stronger, faster than humans -- he's the perfect creation, immovable when he doesn't want to be, and hank, of course, is a collection of flaws and mixed intentions, a patchwork of excess compared to the impeccable cut that is connor himself. it doesn't stop him from admiring just how unyielding connor is when he wants to be, or to realise that connor allows hank to take liberties with him because he wants him to, that somehow, perhaps, his feelings are more reciprocated than he'd thought.
tonight, they close a case they had been moving fast and hard on. it's a difficult one involving an android smuggling ring, but together they had cracked it -- connor had been relentless on the suspects, prying out information from them with all the precision of a surgeon's scalpel and a swinging hammer all at once, and from there on, it had been relatively easy.
what hank doesn't forget in a hurry is how swiftly connor takes down the android who had been the ringleader of the entire enterprise. it was quick, efficient, and dirty, connor entirely and wholly ruthless in pursuit of his objectives and hank realises in that moment, too, that he's fucked, that this, too, is what he loves about him.
the ride home is no different from their usual. hank might be placid, but he's thrumming with anticipation on the inside, rewinding just how strong connor had been, how the other androids never so much as stood a chance against him. he parks nicely, even, and it's only when they finally reach home, door closed behind them that hank finally speaks up. ]
That was excellent work out there today.
[ gotta start with that, instead of 'your competence and strength got me real hot under the collar and i'm dying to fuck you senseless', right? ]
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this case has been hard on him and hank, they both know that. it's meant late nights on stake outs and in the station with barely enough time to exchange exhausted kisses before repeating the cycle – wake, work, lunch, work, delays, paperwork, breakthroughs, failures, drive home, pass out, and wake again. it's been tough on something still quite new and fragile, pushed them to the limits on a few occasions, but it's worth it when they finally get their guy.
connor leaves the station practically bursting. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED hovers in his UI for at least twenty minutes, reminding him constantly that they've done it. they've cracked arguably one of their hardest cases to date, and the rush connor gets has got to be similar to the flood of adrenaline humans might experience in a similar environment. by the time he walks through the door he could well be bouncing on his heels if he let himself. instead they file inside much as they have done every other day of the week – though this time there's no tired shuffle of feet, no whirring of systems pushed to the limits.
and connor has noticed hank.
he's very rarely not monitoring the man in some way – creepy, yes, but it's not something connor would ever consider removing completely. in the actual bust it only involved tracking hank's location relative to connor and his vitals, but it was enough to notice his reaction when connor took down the android. and the interrogation, connor observed his responses then too.
connor's a pretty advanced prototype. it's not hard to put the pieces together. )
We did good today.
( connor responds automatically, but he's distracted. there's no way hank hasn't noticed the pulsing of his LED as he considers the best way of approach – hank has quickly assumed the dominant position in every one of their sexual interactions to date, and the man is often unpredictable. it's hard to tell if he'll be more receptive to a slow build, or if connor should dive right in.
but when he looks over at the man, connor knows full well that he won't be slow building. hank has always appreciated a direct approach, right? )
It's been two weeks and three days since we have had intercourse. ( too clinical, of course, but unlike his interest connor's skills for dirty talk tend to take a little time to warm up. connor doesn't need the same time to warm up though, and he turns to walk closer to hank. he advances on the man until hank's back touches the wall, and he smiles ever so gently as he looks him straight in the eyes. hank has the height advantage, but connor is stronger and they both know it. ) Would you agree that we're overdue?
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illuminated in the light, bouncing off the exit signs i missed.
and given that he's a racer by way of a career – albeit illegal, but still pretty well paid – it's not very often that he breaks down. especially being in the business of illegal racing, it's more important that he keeps his bike in perfect condition than the legal side. he isn't part of a team with a group of vehicles to choose from, not backed by sponsors that can foot the bill for a complete reconstruction job if he runs the thing into the ground. he doesn't even remember the last time he broke down, it's never happened on the bike, and that's probably why it happens on a stretch of road that looks like it's been plucked right out of a horror movie, in the middle of the night. one small sliver of luck comes in the form of a loud rattling that cuts through his engine's rumble enough that connor has already slowed down significantly by the time a catastrophic bang cuts his engine completely. it could have been a fatal accident, instead it's just a very unimpressed drift towards the side of the road.
...hank is going to kill him.
( he has been taking his ride to the same mechanic more or less as long as he's been in town, after a few disappointing jobs he came across a small little garage buried deep in detroit that looked more suited to tuning up old man wagons than maintaining his bike, but he'd needed new tires so badly that he'd taken the chance. hank had picked him for an illegal racer immediately, had bitched about it the entire time connor had been in his shop, but he'd done the job. so connor went back, and went back, and the man very quickly demonstrated a touch for the work connor routinely needed that couldn't be matched anywhere else. even the guys that specifically marketed their business towards the racers paled in comparison. connor hasn't gone anywhere else since. )
he reluctantly makes the call. it wakes hank up, which makes sense considering it's pushing two AM, and connor cops an earful through the phone speakers about that. but it's only around forty minutes before connor sees lights coming up the road, and it's easily identifiable as hank's pick up truck. connor has the decency to look sheepish when the truck abruptly pulls up and loudly shifts into park just in front of his bike. )
Sorry, again. Really. I feel terrible.
( connor immediately opens with an apology when hank gets out and starts to walk him, hands raised and palms open as a clear i'm innocent, officer gesture. he already suspects that the fault lies with what he likes to refer to as his 'unique riding style' and what hank usually angrily describes as 'thrashing the thing around those fuckin' corners'.
if connor is honest with himself, there is a not small part of him that's very pleased to see hank. two o'clock in the morning, over an hour round trip, not including the time they spend on the side of the road, but he's here. he won't smile, because hank will most likely throttle him and crush the bike if connor shows any sign of enjoying the circumstance, but also because that would require admitting that he's harbouring a pretty huge thing for his mechanic.
and connor won't do that. not now, not yet. not when connor is still continually proving himself to be little more than a thorn in hank's side – albeit a well-paying one. )
I honestly don't know what happened. I slowed down when it started banging but then the engine just cut.
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hank is definitely sure that whatever god is dwelling up in his puffy cloud saw hank put his hand around his dick and jerk off to a soft, pretty-faced connor detroit with those full lips and doe-eyes and decided that yes, tonight is the night to seriously fuck with hank anderson.
it's not that he even means to, really (he does mean to); the young man had been surfacing in his thoughts more and more often, and hank can't forget the way he smiles, the way he tilts his head and looks at him, or the passion that burns in his eyes for the thrill of the race, the powerful feeling of a machine between his thighs. hank knows all of this very, very well -- after all, he used to be a racer, himself.
now, his love for the sport has become a relatively successful garage, where hank had discovered his gift for mechanics and had promptly applied himself. it was a successful mid-career switch, which is one of the precious few things that had gone right in his life. hank, now fifty with an ex-wife on his belt and a young kid that's growing up, is carving a life out for himself beyond the thrill of the race and the high stakes. he's found satisfaction in machines, fixing them up and making them good as new again, and he'd jerked off to one of the brightest, most talented stars this side of the country.
someone definitely has it out for him.
connor's voice had been unexpected, a splash of cold water when he'd called and for a moment hank had been deathly paranoid that connor somehow knew just how hank imagined him, legs spread and his uniform unzipped, his cock plump and dripping as hank rips the rest of the uniform up to get to that tight ass and --
-- god, he's fucked.
which is why he'd come all the way out here at almost 3am in the morning, roused from sleep and rumpled, this time only in a wifebeater and jeans, inadvertently putting his muscles on display. he might have a bit of a belly, but all those days of heavy lifting and moving had kept his biceps relatively in shape, and connor looks even better than he imagines when he's sheepish, apologetic and innocent, and he frowns at him. ]
If you really felt terrible, you'd fucking walk home instead of calling me.
[ he grumbles at him, frowning when he inspects the bike and tuts, feeling genuinely sympathetic and pained for the damage that's been suffered by this beauty, his calloused hands running over the smooth curves and inspecting it. ]
And you wouldn't have made this beautiful girl go so hard. The hell did you do to her?
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why are we still in denial when we know we're not happy here.
unfortunately, so does the very desirable object of his unresolved sexual tension: connor detroit and his fucking asshole of a boyfriend, reed. as if seeing them both around the hospital isn't enough to set him on edge, they have to be here, too. connor's too good for reed in so many ways, and yet it's no longer hank's place to say a damn thing, not when he doesn't deserve connor either. it's a good thing that he's moved on from hank, right? after all, what can hank truly offer him, really? he's a difficult man, damaged and bitter and his relationships have always just about ended similarly.
the only thing he has going for him is his skill -- and perhaps that charm; the intensity of his own principles and humanity, but that does not a perfect partner make. and connor deserves one who can love him properly, who isn't as rough around the edges as hank is.
so he's nursing his drink when he'd witnessed the whole thing go down: reed blows his ridiculously beautiful boyfriend off for another bar downtown with the guys, connor is dismayed, and shortly after gets hit on by someone else and is naturally trusting enough not to pay attention to his drink.
hank does, even when he looks like he doesn't care. he's keeping a protective watch on him because of the kind of bar this is, and when his new companion reaches behind him and empties a small vial of something into his drink behind his back is when he's decided he's had enough of it. hank is large and tall enough that most others instinctively back away when they see him -- especially when he decides to pull himself to his full height. nobody wants to fuck with him, especially not the individual that's somehow intent on drugging the hell out of connor for whatever reasons. he'd stepped between them, then, intimidated that asshole into backing down, shamed him for the attempted roofie before quietly offering to take connor home.
he knows he shouldn't, that he should probably get someone else to do that, but this is connor, and hank can't let go even if he should -- and this is why they're here, right in front of connor's apartment door and hank fighting valiantly not to think of all the things they could do if only hank had been less stubborn, less fucked up and oh, what if he'd finally given in, just pressed a kiss to those lush, soft lips, so full and soft and --
-- no. he's here to be a good guy, not give in to his base, raging desires. so what if he's wanted him for as long as he remembers? so what if there never was a night when he hadn't desired him, wanted him, jealous of the fucking bastard reed for having connor in his bed instead of hank's?
he swallows hard, and pushes those thoughts away, deciding to ask instead: ]
You got your keys?
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( which he won, not that it makes a difference. )
it's just that the bragging doesn't really feel like bragging, as if shining a light on his relationship has just revealed how tarnished it really is. 'he lets me have my freedom' reveals how little time they spend together, 'he understands my job' just means they don't have much in common, 'he's so passionate' is just a nice way to say he's a moody bitch most of the time.
they arrive at connor's door right about at the same moment he arrives at the conclusion that gavin is an asshole. because he's fine, tonight could be either a funny or a scary anecdote that he'll tell one of the other residents at work tomorrow. but the scenario where things went really badly was only prevented by hank. it's not a pleasant thought, and when he starts digging through his pockets he uses the excuse to stabilise himself against hank's shoulder with a hand. )
Somewhere, hang on–
( he snorts slightly, checking jacket pockets again, patting them down until he's checked them all twice. and that's right about when he finds them in the back pocket of his jeans. the first one he had checked, naturally. connor pulls them out and smiles lazily up at hank as he dangles them on one finger. )
Would you look at that.
( he's squinting at the keys now though, flipping through several without recognition before he just shoves the whole set into hank's hand and all out leans his entire shoulder against hank's. coaches hank through the process of finding the right key to his door, and in a moment of pure dignity almost walks directly into his own wall as he decides on the bright idea of pulling his sweater over his head at the same time as entering through the doorway. he gets his head out just in time to save himself a serious bruise and instead swerves and stumbles at the last minute. his cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed but mostly just warm. )
You got me home, Doctor Anderson. ( he smirks, giving a little salute and locking his eyes on hank's closely. he sways a little, but he stays standing at least. ) Your good deed for the year, done. Right?
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like sweat dripping down our dirty laundry.
at any rate it has been a welcome surprise to have the evidence to back the knowledge that hank was interested in all of him, attracted to all of him. connor has slowly been allowing himself to reveal more of his android aspects to hank – thirium in the fridge, exposing parts of his chassis when hank is around, modifying less of his behaviour to default to a human 'normal'. hank, to his credit, hasn't said a word on the subject. connor is certain that the man has noticed the changes because he is both an excellent detective and incredibly well-attuned to connor, which means that he's almost definitely chosen to keep quiet on the matter. connor loves him all the more for that.
which is what brings him to this strange little idea, in a roundabout way.
it's weird. even by android standards it's not exactly common practice, but connor is curious to a fault – and as it turns out, a bit of a kinky fucker himself. he doesn't bother to run predictions on how hank will receive the suggestion, because hank is almost always unpredictable. even software as advanced as connor's frequently gets it wrong with the man, and so for once he doesn't start calculating odds and percentages. he's going in blind with this, and that's as scary as it is exciting.
connor's standard genital component is far from the only option, and the market has only grown since deviancy. it's taken a few days to execute everything – he had to order a new part, but the installation process had thankfully been quite simple and he hadn't needed to modify anything extensively. it would have put a bit of a dampener on the surprise if connor had needed hank to help him move his parts around for his new junk, after all. his usual phallus part sits in the drawer of the bedside table ( he'll have to remember to warn hank, a disembodied dick might freak him out ) and he sits on the bed as he waits for hank to get home. he's practically vibrating with the anticipation of it all, resisting the urge to start up last minute calculations, and when the door finally opens and closes to signal his return connor genuinely thinks he might cry with relief. )
I'm in here. ( he calls out loudly, and hears the muffled sounds of hank greeting sumo before the footsteps travel towards the bedroom. connor is perched on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, though he's making a concerted effort not to sit quite as stiffly as his default program dictates.
when hank opens the door connor smiles and stands, and because he assumes that hank will quickly identify that there's something up with connor he wastes no time. ) Hi.
( ...except to press a soft kiss to hank's cheek, because there's always time for that. )
I had...an idea. Something I wanted to try. If you don't want to that's okay, of course, but I thought it might...interest you. Maybe.
( he's a little nervous. )
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turns out, he's wrong.
hank's shedding his coat, putting it aside properly as he eyes connor up at down, not quite sure what to expect. he looks fine, and he looks more human like this, perched on the edge of the bed with his posture not as ramrod straight. it's fascinating, how quickly connor learns, his lovely android picking up more and more humanlike mannerisms as the weeks and months pass, but still retaining that strong sense of self. he's an android, he always will be, and hank loves him for it. they've been experimenting with different things more and more often, and hank has enjoyed just about all of it.
it's strange, sure, but it's connor, and hank can't imagine shunning something that connor likes, that he's into -- they have more than their fair share of rocky times, sure, but overall, connor can almost swear that this relationship is more functional than any relationship he's ever had with anyone, and that's just strange, too. connor had gotten comfortable, too, revealing more and more of his real self to him, and hank had taken it in stride (had even read up on it, too, in a bid to understand connor better). it's progress, it's connor showing hank more of himself and trusting him with it, and hank can't help but appreciate it.
he damn sure isn't going to let him down. he leans down instinctively and accepts the soft kiss to his cheek, coming to sit beside him so that connor doesn't have to lean back to look up at him. ]
Something you want to try? Like what? Food? I'm tellin' ya again, skim milk tastes like shit.
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i let him climb inside my body and held him captive in my kiss.
the outburst is why connor instructs hank to meet him at the club rather than travelling to the scene with him. the assignment is pretty simple – the newly reformed Eden Club, under android management and resembling something closer to a strip club than a brothel these days, is suspected as being used for the sale of a new drug spun off from red ice. it induces a lot less aggressive behaviour from the users, but a whole lot more death, so when they get wind that deals may be going down in the club they quickly contact the new management about setting up a simple undercover operation for a few days to see if they can catch anything.
there's a few officers there besides hank and connor, but connor is the only one posing as a worker – humans don't work at the Eden Club, save for one or two in administrative positions. so connor meets hank outside the staff entrance at the back of the club, huddled in a long jacket that effectively covers him to the knee. his legs are bare underneath, save the shoes that look very bizarre without pants. when hank arrives connor smiles, and because there is no one around he's free to greet him with a quick kiss on the cheek. they aren't exactly hiding the relationship from their coworkers, but they certainly haven't announced it either, and this doesn't seem like the time or place to break that news. )
You're early.
( connor grins, pleased. pleased enough that he ducks in and gives hank another quick kiss, this one on the lips – rewarding good behaviour gets results, after all. he fidgets with the button at the front of his coat, less eager to reveal the clothes ( or lack thereof ) underneath. in their home, connor would be nothing but eager to shed the coat, but under the circumstance of his role in the undercover operation he's...a little nervous. not just for hank's reaction, but that's part of it. )
Come on, let's go inside.
( he quickly interfaces with the lock system until it flashes green and then pushes the door open, stepping in and holding it for hank. he'll have to shed the coat very soon, but he sure as hell won't be standing in an alley when it comes off. )
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this is fucked up on so many, many levels, and hank had just about exploded when fowler had briefed them on this case -- of all the androids who are going to be bait, why connor? why the fuck did it have to be him? deep down, however, he knows exactly why. connor's most suited for work like this; his sharp instincts and quick eyes, the fact that he'd be better built than others to last in a fight and win is why he would be the perfect undercover agent.
but it doesn't mean that hank likes it. he hates the very idea of it, that other strange men would touch him, would have him, would get to look at what only hank gets to look at. more importantly, it would put him in danger. hank is very aware that connor is more than capable of looking after himself, of course -- in fact, he's pretty damn sure that his lover and put him through a wall without breaking a sweat or blinking an eye, but still. accidents happen.
even so, connor reaches out to him, soothes him in ways only he can, and hank calms down enough to meet him at the club, even if he's still not in the best of moods. he's waiting for him, and leans down to meet him halfway for the first and second kiss, only a little mollified by the softness of his lips on his. no one knows they're together, and hank's happy to keep it that way, but he does like when connor's affectionate where no one can see.
he slides his arm around his waist to give him a little squeeze, but draws back and nods, glancing around before nodding. ]
Lead the way.
[ is he nervous, hank wants to ask -- does he really want to do this? how acceptable is it to grab a sex android from the club and go? ]
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my baby loves me like i'm brand new.
but hey, it takes all kinds, right? hank is halfway towards reassuring himself that connor likes him, that connor had come over, had gone for dates with him and his son because he doesn't mind this, and now here they are, after a day out at the zoo with cole, with the kid asleep and hank finally having him all to himself.
the sex had been fantastic, different but no less intense from the passionate rutting in the back of his SUV (although hank really liked that, too, he couldn't clean out the backseat without popping a boner now, which is troublesome when he needs to put on the child booster seats for his kid). this time, they'd taken it slow, but somehow, something's shifted just a little between them. after a hiccup with connor choking on hank's come and needing water to wash it down, the mood's been different. connor looks a little more... faraway, not anchored in the moment, even when hank's fondling his dick to get him nice and hard again. he'd flagged a little during the coughing episode, but hank's more than confident when he grasps him, cupping his balls and laying soft kisses against the elegant line of his neck. ]
You okay there, darlin'? [ he asks, low and quiet. connor looks... well, upset is the best way to put it. but why? ]
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hank makes it remarkably easy. it's just that there's a long way to go between the bed and the bathroom and back again, and while he's looking in the bathroom mirror and sipping at the water from the tap, something changes. he doesn't even realise it until he's back in bed again, the cup carefully placed on the bedside table, stretched on his back and looking up at the ceiling.
it's not surprising that the mood changes after literally choking on the come spurted down the throat, but it's surprising that he can't get it back. connor's trying, he's clutching at the last scraps of the hot and heavy desperation they'd been revelling in only moments ago, but even with his jaw tipped back and head craned to give hank full access to his neck, even as the gentle kisses make him sigh he's– distracted.
his dick still twitches at hank's hand on his balls, because it's still hot and he's still ridiculously attracted to hank, but when the other man asks him a question connor just...presses his lips together in a tight little line. )
Yes. ( he sits up a little, looks at hank and smiles. it's very fake, and he knows that the man will see through it in a heartbeat. he considers a few options, any way to avoid this particular conversation, but he's coming up mostly empty. largely due to the fact that connor is very bad at lying.
he brings a hand up to brush his fingers through hank's beard, tugging lightly, and when he smiles again it's a fraction warmer. ) I'm sorry, I'm ruining the mood.
( it's not an answer to his question, not really, but he hopes it will be enough for hank to move on from the conversation. )
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