( 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.
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.