[ 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. )
[ hank drawls, but he doesn't miss that last attempt at humor. it's cute, his partner with a sense of humor, who's apparently seen fit to deploy it presently, and he actually looks up to acknowledge him, which is a far cry from his behavior the day they first met. or even the other time connor found him in the bar again, a month or so ago.
no, things are different now -- whatever it is that had developed between them that hank staunchly doesn't want to ruminate about has happened anyway, and he grunts. connor's even dropped the 'lieutenant', which is something hank is oddly grateful for, all things considered. he pauses the drinking, absently fingering the rim of the glass. connor is a sight for sore eyes, a welcome balm in the shitstorm of his life, but he grunts anyway, aware that the fucking deadbeat patrons around him have ears. ]
( connor would have removed the expletive, but otherwise the assessment is rather accurate – it's a well known fact around the precinct that there are a select few people that cannot be told anything unless the person wants it to be spread around the bull pen like wildfire. chris miller is one of those people, something even he won't deny. but it's been helpful for connor today, so he's incredibly grateful for miller's blabber mouth right now. he was the one that answered when connor rang to see if hank was still working, and he was the one to inform connor just how pissed off hank had been when he left. from there it wasn't hard to work out where the man had gone.
hank looks at him and that's something, and he takes it as an invitation to sit down on the stool next to him. connor's not sure what to do with his face, so it fixes in a very neutral expression that doesn't reveal anything, and he clasps his hands together and rests them in his lap. )
No, nothing's happening. ( he assures as he settles onto the stool. they're definitely cheaper than they are comfortable, but connor modifies the sensitivity in his thighs and rear until he can't feel the stool any more. he doesn't need the distraction, he's trying to focus on hank.
he eyeballs the glass in his hand but doesn't say anything, gaze returning to hank instead. it feels like it might be a bit of a risky move to touch him now, just as likely to cause hank to bristle as it is to soothe his frayed edges, but he estimates that physical contact will have a 56% chance of a positive outcome. only slightly in his favour, but better than none. connor leaves one hand resting on his knee, and the other reaches out to rest on his upper arm.
it's friendly, platonic even, avoiding anything that might display too much intimacy. connor already knows that hank isn't much of a fan of PDA, he can't imagine that the man will appreciate connor trying to hold his hand in his preferred bar. ) I didn't know where you were, that's all. I...was worried. You weren't returning my calls.
( he repeats that point again, eyes briefly moving away from hank to look at the phone on the bar. he had been worried, enough that he'd called the precinct. enough that he'd come to look for hank. at this stage, it's looking like connor probably made the right decision.
[ nothing's happening, good. which means connor is solely concerned about him, which is why he's here, and apparently hank not picking up his calls has gotten under connor's skin, too. but there's an awareness to connor, enough for him to know that pda in any form is not welcome here, no matter how much hank likes him, no matter how much he allows for his sake. he doesn't move away when connor discreetly rests his hand on his upper arm -- it's platonic, friendly, and to the untrained eye no one will know that they're lovers, and hank damn well wants to keep it that way.
it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate connor, however -- and he softens just a little, nodding briefly at him. he's less cranky than before; connor is definitely a sight for sore eyes, and when he repeats that point hank is aware that he's searching for an answer, a reason.
sometimes there isn't one, and when the bartender turns away hank gives his hand a soft, brief pat, returning the tentative gesture of affection. he's not that gone, don't worry, not that self-destructive. yet. he's looking over at connor now, meeting those guileless, earnest, innocent eyes and can't help but think that those fucking bastards at cyberlink really did decide to make androids ridiculously, disgustingly charming. or maybe it's just that hank is weak to this one.
'got yourself a champion cocksucker, didn't you, you filthy old pervert', reed's words come back to haunt him, and hank had just as viciously ripped the man's habits to shreds, but god if he isn't a filthy old pervert in his own right, looking into this lovely, youthful face, the unfettered concern he has for him. connor is more than what reed insinuated he is, and he drains his glass with a soft sigh. ]
's nothing. This day's just fucking messed up, is all. Regretted not punching Reed in the teeth before I came here.
( once hank pats his hand connor allows himself to smile a little. he's not relaxed, concern still swells in his chest and urges him to act, act, act – but connor can soften it to more of a suggestion, once hank returns the very discreet affection. connor squeezes his arm once, and then moves both hands back into his lap, clasped together to stop himself from the fidgeting movements that usually accompany any intense surge of emotions. )
Officer Miller mentioned you had a run in with Detective Reed in the precinct. You should be proud of yourself. Not punching him is much harder than just going for it.
( connor would know, he beat reed up remember?
connor sighs quietly, pressing his mouth closed for a moment as he looks at hank closely, something a little sad in his eyes and his chest as he watches the man at his side. he wants to touch him, wants to hold him close and bitch about reed and listen to hank vent about the day until he's tired enough to pass out. he wants to kiss him until he forgets about whatever stupid, nasty insult reed has come up with this time, grind against his hips until they come in their pants like teenagers and the release is enough that hank can laugh about the misfortunes of his day instead.
he wants to do pretty much anything other than the limited options he has here, in this bar, sitting on an uncomfortable stool next to hank while he chugs whiskey like it's water. it's pretty much the worst of all the scenarios connor can come up with for improving the current circumstance. he just looks and looks, presses his hands tighter in his lap, and that's it. he can't help like this, and it's leaving him restless and unsure )
Whatever he said...Detective Reed an asshole. You know this. Almost everything he says is untrue. So it doesn't matter what he said, right?
( connor pauses mid-pep talk, because...he has to ask, because it would have to have been pretty vicious for hank to still be dwelling on it now. reed isn't a sociopath, he wouldn't have gone for an unsalvageable blow like cole or the accident, but maybe it was something about hank's drinking, that usually puts him in a mood. or maybe reed has just gotten better at his usual targets. there's always a chance for statistical unlikelihoods to occur. )
[ hank is acutely aware of connor's presence at his side, the sheer self-control he's exercising not to fidget, or to do any of a million things that hank's figured out that connor wants to do in situations like these. he can read him, he can predict, largely, just what connor means to to. of late, they've been closer than close, spending time together in their bed, twined around each other -- and connor, so much more affectionate than he lets on. he has an inkling of what connor means to do, but he's limited by this bar, and maybe hank's getting tired of this bar a little, too.
hell, connor isn't even commenting on hank's drinking, which means that the other is truly, genuinely concerned -- going straight from greeting to comforting is a rare occurrence unless hank looks like shit. and he probably definitely looks like shit.
he snorts softly at that pep talk, smiling into his glass -- it's small and fleeting, but genuine, at least. ]
Like you did?
[ he says quietly, because hell yeah he remembers, and he was so proud of him for that, unfortunately, reed's made connor his new target, and is now pissing hank off accordingly with it. ]
Some bullshit about you.
[ hank grumbles after a moment's pause, when he'd weighed the consequences of telling him versus not; no point keeping it from connor, he's going to know about that sooner rather than later. ] Fucker found out I'm with you.
[ and hank hadn't denied it -- what for? to save face? fuck, hank's done far worse than connor. he gives him a sidelong glance, attempting to gauge his reaction. ] Had a field day coming up with disgusting shit, so now the whole office knows. And then Fowler just had to be an asshole with another thing.
it makes a hell of a lot more sense that hank would react so strongly when the target of the insults was connor, not himself. hank has always fought much harder for connor's defence than he ever has his own.
hank stood at fowler's office door after the success of the revolution and yelled the list of reasons why he should hire connor back at the DPD until his voice went hoarse. hank rose to bite back at reed every day when he sidled his way past connor and hank's desks. hank insisted he be treated equally in the field, even when that meant arguing with stubborn forensic pathologist with strong anti-android views.
detective reed not only insulting connor but degrading him, and to all of their colleagues and coworkers ( not to mention connor's superiors ), it suddenly makes a lot more sense that hank is sitting in this bar. an ache swells in his chest and he wants to reach out to him again, so much that it feels like it will physically hurt him not to. )
I'll speak with Detective Reed. ( a civil conversation of course. in private, so that people won't know if it becomes...uncivil. ) Ignoring him obviously isn't working.
( he turns his head enough that he can see the booth at the wall behind them, and he checks that it is empty before his gaze returns to hank. he swivels in his stool, enough that his knees are lightly touching hank's thigh. it's nothing, they can barely call it contact, but it's all that connor is allowed under the circumstances.
they really need a change of venue. ) Until then....how can I help?
[ well, what's there for hank to defend about himself? he's a has-been, washed up, someone who was going places before life fucked him over without lube. where's there for him to fight for, if not for someone else? connor deserves better than the treatment he gets by the others. even if there are laws protecting androids now, they still have a long way to go. ]
The hell you are.
[ hank says sharply, finishing up his glass. he doesn't want connor anywhere near that fucking sleazeball, and his gaze is flinty as he looks back at connor. it's admirable, connor wanting to smooth things over, but sometimes people are bastard coated bastards with bastard fillings, and there's no use trying to reason with them. the less reed is exposed to connor, the better, because if it happens again, it's not connor that'll knock him out cold, it'll be hank himself, fuck the whole spiel about holding back.
but then he's sensing the brush of connor's knee against his own, something flickering in the back of his mind. connor doesn't do anything without reason, nor does he resort to idle touches -- no, there's a purpose and objective for everything he's doing, and he raises his brows at him, cottoning on.
this isn't a good place for them, right. ]
We can bounce. [ he says to him suddenly. ] Wait for me, I gotta piss.
[ because he knows full well connor won't obey, and he heads straight to the back to the bathroom. connor's asked him just what he can do to help, didn't he? hank's just thought of one. ]
( connor smiles, a broad sweet thing when hank says that he's happy to leave–
...and it takes all of two seconds for things to click into place.
he doesn't wait long before standing as well, following him into the bathroom. the anti android sentiments are still scratched into the walls and stalls of the bathroom, but connor honestly doesn't even register them when he walks in after hank. when the door swings shut, he's smiling again. this one is smaller, it's a secret smile. still sweet in a way, but more keen, interested, a smile just for hank.
there's stalls in the bathroom, all four doors open and unoccupied. connor levels his gaze at hank, an eyebrow raised but the smile still on his face. if he's judging, he's also into it. )
So this is going to help you forget the terrible day you've just had?
( he asks, leaning gently against the wall and watching hank. it's not the worst idea he's hand, honestly. )
[ to be fair, connor is a sweet, sweet thing, and hank doesn't actually miss that smile -- he can practically hear it emanating from the android who, true to his nature, is disobedient. it works in his favor this time, and he's already waiting for connor when he steps in smoothly through the swinging doors.
he's reaching out, tugging him by the tie into the second stall (it looks the cleanest out of the lot of them) and tries not to think about how so many of their trysts revolve around the bathroom. he likes that smile, he decides; he sees it rarely, but he knows it comes out when connor's genuinely pleased with him, so he lets that judgement go, you judgey little asshole.
he's pushes the stall door shut, cornering connor effortlessly up against him. the android might be able to beat him up six ways from sunday and then some, but it doesn't stop hank from enjoying the height difference he has on him. ]
Think so. Gotta try everything, right?
[ the answer, of course, is yes. his mood had lifted when he'd set eyes on connor, but he'd rather cut his own balls off before admitting that, so there you have it. he's cupping the back of his neck when he's leaning down to kiss him, his hand flat on the door beside his head, convenient covering anti-android sentiments carved onto the wood.
fucking an android in an anti-android bathroom, they're really going places. ]
( connor and hank are both well aware that connor would be more than able to remain stood in his position if he wanted to, aware that when hank pushes him around or manhandlea him into positions that connor is letting him, but it only makes it sweeter when hank opens a stall and connor allows the man to push him in, move him about and crowd him up against the door.
connor quickly pushes up to meet the kiss, immediately intense and more than a little needy. it's not hard to figure out why hank has pulled him in here – for sex, obviously, but more than that to clear his head, try and soothe over an evidently unpleasant day – so connor doesn't waste any time with slowly building the mood. it's already there, and even though this is about hank he would be lying if he tried to deny that the situation is definitely doing something for him. it's not just the thrill of being caught, it's the bar itself, the history it holds and the graffiti scrawled across the walls and etched into the door. connor honestly can't think of a better way to spite bigotry right now.
a hand slides up to the back of hank's head, fingers taking through his hair before gripping lightly. the other finds his waistband, tugging the hem of hank's shirt out of the way so that he can graze his fingers over the skin just above hank's belt, flattening his palm against hank's stomach and rubbing slowly. he works his fingers under the waistband, softly stroking lower until he's dragging his fingers through pubic hair, which is where connor stops. he keeps stroking, alternating between the slow run down and grazing his nails against the skin on the way up, but he doesn't move any lower. )
We'll have to be quiet. ( connor mumbles, after tightening his grip on hank's hair so that he can pull the man's head away just far enough for connor to whisper the words. they're still close enough that his lips brush hank's as he speaks, close enough that connor can quickly, lightly lap his tongue against hank's mouth. close enough that it takes hardly any movement at all to get hank's lower lip between his teeth and bite down hard enough to hurt, just a little.
he doesn't exactly see this being a gentle, loving sex session, after all. ) If anyone catches us, it won't end well.
You have to be quiet. I'm not the one mewling like a cat in heat.
[ hank counters softly in between kisses, eyes darkened to almost black with unfettered lust. no, they don't need foreplay -- this bar is foreplay enough, this shitty place with its shitty, pointless hate, and hank is going to fuck his android right here just to piss on all of it.
he's looking at him now, really looking at him, a hand cupping connor's face. he's surprisingly tender for being such a grumpy fucker, but connor has done nothing wrong -- he hasn't even asked to exist, and yet here he is, beautiful and young and too damn good for him.
but hank can pretend he deserves to have him, even as he shivers, heart racing when those smooth fingers work their way down his pants to his pubes, his dick filling out the longer connor lingers, a pavlovian reaction to the proximity of those talented digits.
he grinds his hips up against his with a low groan, stifling it against connor's mouth as he ravages it again, the hot slide of tongue against tongue, letting connor sample the burn of whiskey in his mouth even as he savors the sting of connor's nip. god, but he loves it when connor is frisky. ]
You're so fucking beautiful.
[ he mutters, letting go of his face to fumble at connor's belt, the catch of his pants. he's tugging them open swiftly, reaching in to fondle him, to give his balls a good palming because he quite likes them. he's pushing those impeccably ironed pants down his hips, letting it fall to his shoes as he continues. ]
You wanna fuck in this place too, don't ya? Right here in this shithole that has no place to hate androids.
( he snaps back quickly, but there's no actual bite to the words. it's hard to even feign annoyance when he just sounds impossibly fond so he doesn't bother with pretences. he'll bring it up later though, when hank's in a better space and connor isn't in a weird space of concern for hank and horny for him. because he absolutely doesn't mewl.
( he sort of does )
connor is smiling again, because he enjoys praise far more than he'll willingly admit but also far more because he's once again surprised by his ability to love hank even more than before. they're in this nasty little stall in a nastier bathroom, in a dive bar with anti android sentiments scrawled all around them. hank's had an awful day and they're going to fuck as nasty as the bathroom they're standing in until the day looks a little better. and hank, gloriously sweet and kind for all his gruffer tendencies, has taken a moment to tell connor he's beautiful.
but he can't very well smile like a sweet little fool when hank's getting his pants open and groping at him. or well, he could, but he'd rather just move his hand to hank's jaw and tip the man's head back so that he can access his throat. he sucks at a spot high enough that it will be visible even with a collar, a little curious to see if hank will stop him, and he rolls his crotch down against hank's hands. )
Yeah, I really do. ( he murmurs the words without fully removing his lips from hank's neck. his pants will wrinkle like this, but he doesn't move to take them off fully so that he can fold them. it doesn't suit the location to fold them neatly and set aside, and it certainly suits the location to keep them around his ankles. being partially clothed is almost as much of a thrill as fucking in a bathroom, anyway. ) So good it's almost impossible to keep quiet.
[ hank is corrupting his android, one day at a time, he just knows this. weeks ago, connor probably wouldn't be keen to fuck in a bathroom (probably?) and especially in a place like this, but look at him now, willing and eager and smiling -- he can practically feel the contented pleasure emanating from him, and hank almost asks if connor always wears his emotions on his sleeve like this, or if it's just for him.
he doesn't, because a place as nasty as this doesn't deserve that kind of soft talk, so he files it away and curses softly when connor tips his head back, mouth and teeth and tongue sucking what is obviously a lovebite above his collar. he gives him a half-hearted swat for his trouble -- ]
Hey, asshole, watch it --
[ -- but is all too pleased to let connor do as he likes. besides, he can just say it's an animal attack, and watch connor's reaction to that. yeah, that's what he's gonna do. horny as hell and not about to wait, he's pulling away only to coax him to turn around, to brace himself against the door of the stall. ]
Gonna make you pay for that. They're gonna see it.
[ not that hank cares, but you know, a guy's gotta pretend so he has an excuse to spank his pretty, imperious little android. his heart is racing, beating faster with anticipation, warm heat curling in the pool of his stomach; it's just unfortunate he won't get to see his face. ]
Shh, quiet now.
[ he tells him, and no sooner does he say it before the door swings open again, heavy, lumbering footsteps heading over to the urinal just paces away. hank freezes midway with his hand curling over connor's balls, every instinct on alert.
( connor turns easily in hank's arms, cheek and upper body pressing flat against the door with his hands braced either side of himself. his head is turned enough like this that he can just about catch sight of hank behind him, and in turn hank can just about catch sight of the amused look on his face.
he won't deny that the thought of hank walking out with a bruise marking him at his throat makes connor viciously pleased – if connor thought the man would let him he'd waltz out of the bathroom with their hands clasped and held high in the air out of spite, to be sure that everyone knew exactly what they thought of anti-android sentiments, but hank's comfort is more important than connor's pettiness. especially now.
the swat doesn't hurt, not even a sting, and as he gives his hips a gentle roll into the palm of hank's hand connor is idly wondering if he can goad hank into really spanking him – and sure enough someone walks in. connor falls very still along with hank, but apparently he recovers faster than the man does, because even though the backing track of grunts and laboured breathing and an impossibly long piss stream isn't exactly very sexy, connor still drops a hand from the door and reaches back to grind his palm into hank's crotch through his pants.
and he moves his other hand off of the door just long enough to press a finger to his lips in a gesture to be quiet, definitely smirking now. )
[ hank does catch that look of amusement all right, but he doesn't respond to that when whoever it is comes in -- likely heavyset, perhaps one of the truckers who come by ever so often. he doesn't care for the grunt and the piss-stream but he does take this chance to continue fondling connor, jumping when he feels that hand rubbing up against his groin, massaging his already half-hard dick through his pants.
god, connor is a menace to everything around him.
he bites back a curse, fighting to be quiet when his imperious android lover just about does his darndest to make sure that hank makes some sort of sound. it's very sexy, the knife edge of danger. but hank has some shred of appearance to keep up, and as much as he's fine with being discovered fucking connor in a place like this, he knows there'll be a world of shit coming for them if they're discovered.
most importantly, he probably won't be welcome at jimmy's again and considering that this is his favorite watering hole, that particular consequence is catastrophic.
his mouth finds connor's throat now, sucking a similar lovebite because he's an asshole and because he wants to, going harder just so he can mar that flawless, synthetic skin, so smooth and so real under his attentions. he's unzipping himself when he hears the trucker moves and shuffle, rubbing into connor's hand and all but demanding that he draws him out, and quickly. ]
( connor arches his neck back to give hank more access, lips pressed tight together to keep himself quiet as his eyelids flutter shut. he could disable his vocal component, but that's hardly fair on hank who has to rely solely on self restraint. besides, half the thrill comes from having to force himself into silence.
it's really not going to be an easy task. connor already wants to encourage more from hank with soft, pleased noises. instead he settles for rubbing the heel of his hand into hank's crotch with a little more insistence. the bites won't remain on connor's skin like they do with hank, but when he sucks enough for the synthetic skin to bleed away connor stops the dermal layer from covering the marks over. the result is an effect almost comparable to a hickey, except they're white in contrast to the red-purple bruise already forming on hank's throat.
once hank's zip drops, connor doesn't waste any time. he hooks a thumb in the elastic of hank's boxers and shoves them down just enough to get his cock free from the material, and then he takes his hand away entirely. it's only for a moment though, long enough to grasp hank's wrist and move the man's hand away from his own crotch and place it on his ass. his hand grips over hank's, encouraging a firm grope of his asscheek before his attention returns to the neglected cock now hanging free. he quickly wraps his fingers around the base and he squeezes the shaft before starting to gently pump his fist, slow and teasing the whole time. )
[ hank is, generally speaking, a generous lover. for all his meanness and his ill-temper and his fierce insecurities, he can he surprisingly considerate -- and also more than a bit of an asshole.
he notices that connor hadn't gone the easy way out and muted himself, realising that he actually likes the challenge, which makes him so hot in ways he can't begin to trace. he lets his young lover guide his hand off his dick, and hank gives his ass an appreciative knead and squeeze in return. god, but connor is made for sex, the way he's so supple and firm, made to be ravished and worshipped and not used.
he's spreading those cheeks with his hands now, kneading them and biting back a moan. they can't be heard like this, or they will be roundly fucked, and not in a good way. but there is something real hot about this, even as he lets go of one cheek to slide his fingers up, up, gently nudging between his lips and pushing two inside his mouth, coaxing him to lick, to suck like the obedient boy he is.
he's grinding his cock into connor's smooth hand, happy to quietly indulge as he hears the stranger zip up and the tap running. rolling his hips into his, he eyes the strange new hickey imprinted on his skin, fascinated. he makes another one over it, a little harder this time. ]
( it feels like the stranger has been in the bathroom for hours, although connor's internal timers helpfully inform him that it has actually been two minutes and seven seconds. not abnormally long given that the man is clearly very drunk, but it takes an immense amount of self control for connor to stop himself from shouting at the guy to get out.
his lips part immediately at the press of hank's fingers and he's very deliberate to keep his head craned, neck twisted so that he can just about look at hank while he takes the man's fingers into his mouth. he doesn't have saliva exactly, but thanks to the analysis features on his tongue he does produce a thin fluid designed to keep them lubricated and free from contamination. turns out it's actually pretty handy for more than just lubricating his tongue sensors.
connor quickly sucks his fingers in completely, tongue rolling up against the underside of them before he sucks, hard. his cheeks hollow a little and his eyes never leave hank as he pushes his tongue between the two fingers, coating them thoroughly. he matches the pace of his fist around hank's cock, slow glides in time with the bob of his head as he basically blows hank's fingers.
his focus breaks when hank sucks at his neck. connor's eyes drop closed and his lips close firmly around hank's fingers to muffle any sound he might make. thank god the tap is running, because even with connor's efforts he still might have given them away.
finally the heavy footsteps move towards the exit. the door swings open, closes again, and connor groans, jaw falling slack with the fingers still resting in his mouth. he pumps his fist a little faster, a little more insistent, pushing his ass back towards hank's hips. )
Hank, I can't wait, come on.
( bit strange that his voice is perfectly clear despite the fingers still in his mouth, but it's hardly the weirdest thing connor has done during sex. )
[ it's really, really hot when connor's mouth just automatically opens up for him, like his fingers belong in his mouth, like he was made to just suck him off like that -- hank tries not to think too deeply about that one, because connor was built as an investigative model, not a sex android, even though hank is aware that connor's gone for a few... touch-ups. it moves him, to know that connor would do something like that for him, but it makes hank want to show him that he doesn't mind him as he is as well, with barely any give to him and strong and forceful as well and fully capable of cracking him open like a peanut.
still, he loves this moment when he gets to watch connor take his fingers inside him, and it makes his dick jump, immediately stiff in his trousers. it's too damn sexy, and he forgets what he's about to do for a moment, caught by the sight of it and knowing that he'll never, never forget. connor's mouth is hot and wet, and hank knows that it's on purpose. the cave of his mouth so human-like that he's teasing at his tongue now, brushing his fingers deftly over it while his lover sucks. he barely pays attention to the drunk trucker getting out of the bathroom, only alerted to it when connor groans, so low and so sweet that he swears he's going to come soon if he's not careful.
even worse, connor's jerking him off and grinding against him, and it's his turn to gently brush his hand away so he can grasp his dick himself, letting connor's go so he can line himself up, the buckle of his belt brushing against the small of connor's back before he's pushing the fat, thick head of his dick into that tight little hole, aware that it's wet and practically lubed up for him. he can't help a grunt, because fuck, it should be a sin for anyone to feel this good. ]
Shhh. And stop doing that.
[ he can hear voices outside. hank might not be fazed by just how his voice seems so clear despite the fingers in his mouth, but still. ]
( the moment the bathroom is empty some of connor's restraint relaxes. a little too much, most likely, because he can still hear people in the bar talking close to the bathrooms but connor moans loudly all the same. the sound surprises him a little, and he quickly makes a point to seal his lips tight around the fingers again. huffing a breath out of his nose instead to try and relieve some of the tension.
connor quickly brings both of his hands back up to brace against the wall, arching his back and angling his hips to try and give hank better access. there's a moment when his cock first presses against connor that he thinks there's no way he'll be able to stop himself from letting the whole bar know what's happening here when hank bottoms out. he's barely pushing in at all and connor is already breathing out through his nose hard again, short hard exhales to stop himself from moaning loudly again. )
I'm trying.
( his voice is still clear, but at least connor moves his mouth as though he needs it to speak this time. as he presses back against hank's cock he moves his hand off of the door, reaching for hank's hand and pushing a third finger in his mouth. because clearly that's going to help. )
hank grunts when connor tries to take his third finger to his mouth, and he pulls out of his reluctantly, his fingers slick before he clamps his hand firmly over his mouth to more effectively shut that up, probably, but his connor has always had an annoying way of circumventing things like that.
even so, he keeps his hand firmly clamped around him -- it's not like connor strictly needs to breathe, anyway, although hank himself has to stifle a groan as he presses his face to his shoulder, sinking it right to the base, his balls pressing against those cheeks. he's fully, wholly inside his lover now, gripping connor tight as he shivers, fighting not to move too quickly. he needs to let connor adjust to his girth, his length, his hand letting go of connor's cock to rub up gently against his lower abdomen, as if through it he could feel the barest hint of his cock sheathed deep inside him. ]
god, look at you.
[ he murmurs, low and soft and ragged, before slowly, slowly pulling out. ]
( it technically doesn't stop him from making noise, any more than the fingers pressed onto his tongue, but it certainly feels like it helps. connor parts his lips enough to run his tongue lightly over his palm, but after that he allows his eyes to slip completely shut.
once hank pushes fully into him he lets out a soft whine, much quieter than the moan, and he's already pushing himself back against the man. hank is much more concerned with connor adjusting to the intrusion than connor is, and connor is quickly urging him to move with insistent rocks of his hips. )
Feels so good, Hank.
( connor moves his mouth under the hand again to make the voice projection a little less weird. once hank starts to pull out again connor has patience for all of a few seconds, and then he flattens his hands on the door and locks his arms in firmly, so that he can use the leverage to fuck himself back on hank's cock. )
[ connor is a menace, just look at him. here hank is trying to be careful -- trying not to hurt him, and look what connor's doing, practically driving himself back onto his cock like he'd die if hank pulls out or doesn't go quick enough. it occurs to him to give his ass a warning slap, but then the doors swing open again, and this time it's two other dudes who are chatting animatedly about a football game.
his own response is cut off, and he manages a deep thrust, and another before he stills, buried deep inside him. they have to be quiet, to take it slow, and he's gripping connor's hip (even though he knows he doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of stopping connor if the android sets his mind to something) to keep him slow, still, gently squeezing his jaw in silent warning.
they really have to be quiet, now, and hank rolls his hips to reward him, to try to take the edge off connor's fierce longing to be fucked. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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[ hank drawls, but he doesn't miss that last attempt at humor. it's cute, his partner with a sense of humor, who's apparently seen fit to deploy it presently, and he actually looks up to acknowledge him, which is a far cry from his behavior the day they first met. or even the other time connor found him in the bar again, a month or so ago.
no, things are different now -- whatever it is that had developed between them that hank staunchly doesn't want to ruminate about has happened anyway, and he grunts. connor's even dropped the 'lieutenant', which is something hank is oddly grateful for, all things considered. he pauses the drinking, absently fingering the rim of the glass. connor is a sight for sore eyes, a welcome balm in the shitstorm of his life, but he grunts anyway, aware that the fucking deadbeat patrons around him have ears. ]
What's so urgent? Another case?
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( connor would have removed the expletive, but otherwise the assessment is rather accurate – it's a well known fact around the precinct that there are a select few people that cannot be told anything unless the person wants it to be spread around the bull pen like wildfire. chris miller is one of those people, something even he won't deny. but it's been helpful for connor today, so he's incredibly grateful for miller's blabber mouth right now. he was the one that answered when connor rang to see if hank was still working, and he was the one to inform connor just how pissed off hank had been when he left. from there it wasn't hard to work out where the man had gone.
hank looks at him and that's something, and he takes it as an invitation to sit down on the stool next to him. connor's not sure what to do with his face, so it fixes in a very neutral expression that doesn't reveal anything, and he clasps his hands together and rests them in his lap. )
No, nothing's happening. ( he assures as he settles onto the stool. they're definitely cheaper than they are comfortable, but connor modifies the sensitivity in his thighs and rear until he can't feel the stool any more. he doesn't need the distraction, he's trying to focus on hank.
he eyeballs the glass in his hand but doesn't say anything, gaze returning to hank instead. it feels like it might be a bit of a risky move to touch him now, just as likely to cause hank to bristle as it is to soothe his frayed edges, but he estimates that physical contact will have a 56% chance of a positive outcome. only slightly in his favour, but better than none. connor leaves one hand resting on his knee, and the other reaches out to rest on his upper arm.
it's friendly, platonic even, avoiding anything that might display too much intimacy. connor already knows that hank isn't much of a fan of PDA, he can't imagine that the man will appreciate connor trying to hold his hand in his preferred bar. ) I didn't know where you were, that's all. I...was worried. You weren't returning my calls.
( he repeats that point again, eyes briefly moving away from hank to look at the phone on the bar. he had been worried, enough that he'd called the precinct. enough that he'd come to look for hank. at this stage, it's looking like connor probably made the right decision.
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it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate connor, however -- and he softens just a little, nodding briefly at him. he's less cranky than before; connor is definitely a sight for sore eyes, and when he repeats that point hank is aware that he's searching for an answer, a reason.
sometimes there isn't one, and when the bartender turns away hank gives his hand a soft, brief pat, returning the tentative gesture of affection. he's not that gone, don't worry, not that self-destructive. yet. he's looking over at connor now, meeting those guileless, earnest, innocent eyes and can't help but think that those fucking bastards at cyberlink really did decide to make androids ridiculously, disgustingly charming. or maybe it's just that hank is weak to this one.
'got yourself a champion cocksucker, didn't you, you filthy old pervert', reed's words come back to haunt him, and hank had just as viciously ripped the man's habits to shreds, but god if he isn't a filthy old pervert in his own right, looking into this lovely, youthful face, the unfettered concern he has for him. connor is more than what reed insinuated he is, and he drains his glass with a soft sigh. ]
's nothing. This day's just fucking messed up, is all. Regretted not punching Reed in the teeth before I came here.
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Officer Miller mentioned you had a run in with Detective Reed in the precinct. You should be proud of yourself. Not punching him is much harder than just going for it.
(
connor would know, he beat reed up remember?connor sighs quietly, pressing his mouth closed for a moment as he looks at hank closely, something a little sad in his eyes and his chest as he watches the man at his side. he wants to touch him, wants to hold him close and bitch about reed and listen to hank vent about the day until he's tired enough to pass out. he wants to kiss him until he forgets about whatever stupid, nasty insult reed has come up with this time, grind against his hips until they come in their pants like teenagers and the release is enough that hank can laugh about the misfortunes of his day instead.
he wants to do pretty much anything other than the limited options he has here, in this bar, sitting on an uncomfortable stool next to hank while he chugs whiskey like it's water. it's pretty much the worst of all the scenarios connor can come up with for improving the current circumstance. he just looks and looks, presses his hands tighter in his lap, and that's it. he can't help like this, and it's leaving him restless and unsure )
Whatever he said...Detective Reed an asshole. You know this. Almost everything he says is untrue. So it doesn't matter what he said, right?
( connor pauses mid-pep talk, because...he has to ask, because it would have to have been pretty vicious for hank to still be dwelling on it now. reed isn't a sociopath, he wouldn't have gone for an unsalvageable blow like cole or the accident, but maybe it was something about hank's drinking, that usually puts him in a mood. or maybe reed has just gotten better at his usual targets. there's always a chance for statistical unlikelihoods to occur. )
...What did he say?
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hell, connor isn't even commenting on hank's drinking, which means that the other is truly, genuinely concerned -- going straight from greeting to comforting is a rare occurrence unless hank looks like shit. and he probably definitely looks like shit.
he snorts softly at that pep talk, smiling into his glass -- it's small and fleeting, but genuine, at least. ]
Like you did?
[ he says quietly, because hell yeah he remembers, and he was so proud of him for that, unfortunately, reed's made connor his new target, and is now pissing hank off accordingly with it. ]
Some bullshit about you.
[ hank grumbles after a moment's pause, when he'd weighed the consequences of telling him versus not; no point keeping it from connor, he's going to know about that sooner rather than later. ] Fucker found out I'm with you.
[ and hank hadn't denied it -- what for? to save face? fuck, hank's done far worse than connor. he gives him a sidelong glance, attempting to gauge his reaction. ] Had a field day coming up with disgusting shit, so now the whole office knows. And then Fowler just had to be an asshole with another thing.
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it makes a hell of a lot more sense that hank would react so strongly when the target of the insults was connor, not himself. hank has always fought much harder for connor's defence than he ever has his own.
hank stood at fowler's office door after the success of the revolution and yelled the list of reasons why he should hire connor back at the DPD until his voice went hoarse. hank rose to bite back at reed every day when he sidled his way past connor and hank's desks. hank insisted he be treated equally in the field, even when that meant arguing with stubborn forensic pathologist with strong anti-android views.
detective reed not only insulting connor but degrading him, and to all of their colleagues and coworkers ( not to mention connor's superiors ), it suddenly makes a lot more sense that hank is sitting in this bar. an ache swells in his chest and he wants to reach out to him again, so much that it feels like it will physically hurt him not to. )
I'll speak with Detective Reed. ( a civil conversation of course. in private, so that people won't know if it becomes...uncivil. ) Ignoring him obviously isn't working.
( he turns his head enough that he can see the booth at the wall behind them, and he checks that it is empty before his gaze returns to hank. he swivels in his stool, enough that his knees are lightly touching hank's thigh. it's nothing, they can barely call it contact, but it's all that connor is allowed under the circumstances.
they really need a change of venue. ) Until then....how can I help?
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The hell you are.
[ hank says sharply, finishing up his glass. he doesn't want connor anywhere near that fucking sleazeball, and his gaze is flinty as he looks back at connor. it's admirable, connor wanting to smooth things over, but sometimes people are bastard coated bastards with bastard fillings, and there's no use trying to reason with them. the less reed is exposed to connor, the better, because if it happens again, it's not connor that'll knock him out cold, it'll be hank himself, fuck the whole spiel about holding back.
but then he's sensing the brush of connor's knee against his own, something flickering in the back of his mind. connor doesn't do anything without reason, nor does he resort to idle touches -- no, there's a purpose and objective for everything he's doing, and he raises his brows at him, cottoning on.
this isn't a good place for them, right. ]
We can bounce. [ he says to him suddenly. ] Wait for me, I gotta piss.
[ because he knows full well connor won't obey, and he heads straight to the back to the bathroom. connor's asked him just what he can do to help, didn't he? hank's just thought of one. ]
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...and it takes all of two seconds for things to click into place.
he doesn't wait long before standing as well, following him into the bathroom. the anti android sentiments are still scratched into the walls and stalls of the bathroom, but connor honestly doesn't even register them when he walks in after hank. when the door swings shut, he's smiling again. this one is smaller, it's a secret smile. still sweet in a way, but more keen, interested, a smile just for hank.
there's stalls in the bathroom, all four doors open and unoccupied. connor levels his gaze at hank, an eyebrow raised but the smile still on his face. if he's judging, he's also into it. )
So this is going to help you forget the terrible day you've just had?
( he asks, leaning gently against the wall and watching hank. it's not the worst idea he's hand, honestly. )
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he's reaching out, tugging him by the tie into the second stall (it looks the cleanest out of the lot of them) and tries not to think about how so many of their trysts revolve around the bathroom. he likes that smile, he decides; he sees it rarely, but he knows it comes out when connor's genuinely pleased with him, so he lets that judgement go, you judgey little asshole.
he's pushes the stall door shut, cornering connor effortlessly up against him. the android might be able to beat him up six ways from sunday and then some, but it doesn't stop hank from enjoying the height difference he has on him. ]
Think so. Gotta try everything, right?
[ the answer, of course, is yes. his mood had lifted when he'd set eyes on connor, but he'd rather cut his own balls off before admitting that, so there you have it. he's cupping the back of his neck when he's leaning down to kiss him, his hand flat on the door beside his head, convenient covering anti-android sentiments carved onto the wood.
fucking an android in an anti-android bathroom, they're really going places. ]
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connor quickly pushes up to meet the kiss, immediately intense and more than a little needy. it's not hard to figure out why hank has pulled him in here – for sex, obviously, but more than that to clear his head, try and soothe over an evidently unpleasant day – so connor doesn't waste any time with slowly building the mood. it's already there, and even though this is about hank he would be lying if he tried to deny that the situation is definitely doing something for him. it's not just the thrill of being caught, it's the bar itself, the history it holds and the graffiti scrawled across the walls and etched into the door. connor honestly can't think of a better way to spite bigotry right now.
a hand slides up to the back of hank's head, fingers taking through his hair before gripping lightly. the other finds his waistband, tugging the hem of hank's shirt out of the way so that he can graze his fingers over the skin just above hank's belt, flattening his palm against hank's stomach and rubbing slowly. he works his fingers under the waistband, softly stroking lower until he's dragging his fingers through pubic hair, which is where connor stops. he keeps stroking, alternating between the slow run down and grazing his nails against the skin on the way up, but he doesn't move any lower. )
We'll have to be quiet. ( connor mumbles, after tightening his grip on hank's hair so that he can pull the man's head away just far enough for connor to whisper the words. they're still close enough that his lips brush hank's as he speaks, close enough that connor can quickly, lightly lap his tongue against hank's mouth. close enough that it takes hardly any movement at all to get hank's lower lip between his teeth and bite down hard enough to hurt, just a little.
he doesn't exactly see this being a gentle, loving sex session, after all. ) If anyone catches us, it won't end well.
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[ hank counters softly in between kisses, eyes darkened to almost black with unfettered lust. no, they don't need foreplay -- this bar is foreplay enough, this shitty place with its shitty, pointless hate, and hank is going to fuck his android right here just to piss on all of it.
he's looking at him now, really looking at him, a hand cupping connor's face. he's surprisingly tender for being such a grumpy fucker, but connor has done nothing wrong -- he hasn't even asked to exist, and yet here he is, beautiful and young and too damn good for him.
but hank can pretend he deserves to have him, even as he shivers, heart racing when those smooth fingers work their way down his pants to his pubes, his dick filling out the longer connor lingers, a pavlovian reaction to the proximity of those talented digits.
he grinds his hips up against his with a low groan, stifling it against connor's mouth as he ravages it again, the hot slide of tongue against tongue, letting connor sample the burn of whiskey in his mouth even as he savors the sting of connor's nip. god, but he loves it when connor is frisky. ]
You're so fucking beautiful.
[ he mutters, letting go of his face to fumble at connor's belt, the catch of his pants. he's tugging them open swiftly, reaching in to fondle him, to give his balls a good palming because he quite likes them. he's pushing those impeccably ironed pants down his hips, letting it fall to his shoes as he continues. ]
You wanna fuck in this place too, don't ya? Right here in this shithole that has no place to hate androids.
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( he snaps back quickly, but there's no actual bite to the words. it's hard to even feign annoyance when he just sounds impossibly fond so he doesn't bother with pretences. he'll bring it up later though, when hank's in a better space and connor isn't in a weird space of concern for hank and horny for him. because he absolutely doesn't mewl.
( he sort of does )
connor is smiling again, because he enjoys praise far more than he'll willingly admit but also far more because he's once again surprised by his ability to love hank even more than before. they're in this nasty little stall in a nastier bathroom, in a dive bar with anti android sentiments scrawled all around them. hank's had an awful day and they're going to fuck as nasty as the bathroom they're standing in until the day looks a little better. and hank, gloriously sweet and kind for all his gruffer tendencies, has taken a moment to tell connor he's beautiful.
but he can't very well smile like a sweet little fool when hank's getting his pants open and groping at him. or well, he could, but he'd rather just move his hand to hank's jaw and tip the man's head back so that he can access his throat. he sucks at a spot high enough that it will be visible even with a collar, a little curious to see if hank will stop him, and he rolls his crotch down against hank's hands. )
Yeah, I really do. ( he murmurs the words without fully removing his lips from hank's neck. his pants will wrinkle like this, but he doesn't move to take them off fully so that he can fold them. it doesn't suit the location to fold them neatly and set aside, and it certainly suits the location to keep them around his ankles. being partially clothed is almost as much of a thrill as fucking in a bathroom, anyway. ) So good it's almost impossible to keep quiet.
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he doesn't, because a place as nasty as this doesn't deserve that kind of soft talk, so he files it away and curses softly when connor tips his head back, mouth and teeth and tongue sucking what is obviously a lovebite above his collar. he gives him a half-hearted swat for his trouble -- ]
Hey, asshole, watch it --
[ -- but is all too pleased to let connor do as he likes. besides, he can just say it's an animal attack, and watch connor's reaction to that. yeah, that's what he's gonna do. horny as hell and not about to wait, he's pulling away only to coax him to turn around, to brace himself against the door of the stall. ]
Gonna make you pay for that. They're gonna see it.
[ not that hank cares, but you know, a guy's gotta pretend so he has an excuse to spank his pretty, imperious little android. his heart is racing, beating faster with anticipation, warm heat curling in the pool of his stomach; it's just unfortunate he won't get to see his face. ]
Shh, quiet now.
[ he tells him, and no sooner does he say it before the door swings open again, heavy, lumbering footsteps heading over to the urinal just paces away. hank freezes midway with his hand curling over connor's balls, every instinct on alert.
talk about shitty timing. ]
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( connor turns easily in hank's arms, cheek and upper body pressing flat against the door with his hands braced either side of himself. his head is turned enough like this that he can just about catch sight of hank behind him, and in turn hank can just about catch sight of the amused look on his face.
he won't deny that the thought of hank walking out with a bruise marking him at his throat makes connor viciously pleased – if connor thought the man would let him he'd waltz out of the bathroom with their hands clasped and held high in the air out of spite, to be sure that everyone knew exactly what they thought of anti-android sentiments, but hank's comfort is more important than connor's pettiness. especially now.
the swat doesn't hurt, not even a sting, and as he gives his hips a gentle roll into the palm of hank's hand connor is idly wondering if he can goad hank into really spanking him – and sure enough someone walks in. connor falls very still along with hank, but apparently he recovers faster than the man does, because even though the backing track of grunts and laboured breathing and an impossibly long piss stream isn't exactly very sexy, connor still drops a hand from the door and reaches back to grind his palm into hank's crotch through his pants.
and he moves his other hand off of the door just long enough to press a finger to his lips in a gesture to be quiet, definitely smirking now. )
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god, connor is a menace to everything around him.
he bites back a curse, fighting to be quiet when his imperious android lover just about does his darndest to make sure that hank makes some sort of sound. it's very sexy, the knife edge of danger. but hank has some shred of appearance to keep up, and as much as he's fine with being discovered fucking connor in a place like this, he knows there'll be a world of shit coming for them if they're discovered.
most importantly, he probably won't be welcome at jimmy's again and considering that this is his favorite watering hole, that particular consequence is catastrophic.
his mouth finds connor's throat now, sucking a similar lovebite because he's an asshole and because he wants to, going harder just so he can mar that flawless, synthetic skin, so smooth and so real under his attentions. he's unzipping himself when he hears the trucker moves and shuffle, rubbing into connor's hand and all but demanding that he draws him out, and quickly. ]
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it's really not going to be an easy task. connor already wants to encourage more from hank with soft, pleased noises. instead he settles for rubbing the heel of his hand into hank's crotch with a little more insistence. the bites won't remain on connor's skin like they do with hank, but when he sucks enough for the synthetic skin to bleed away connor stops the dermal layer from covering the marks over. the result is an effect almost comparable to a hickey, except they're white in contrast to the red-purple bruise already forming on hank's throat.
once hank's zip drops, connor doesn't waste any time. he hooks a thumb in the elastic of hank's boxers and shoves them down just enough to get his cock free from the material, and then he takes his hand away entirely. it's only for a moment though, long enough to grasp hank's wrist and move the man's hand away from his own crotch and place it on his ass. his hand grips over hank's, encouraging a firm grope of his asscheek before his attention returns to the neglected cock now hanging free. he quickly wraps his fingers around the base and he squeezes the shaft before starting to gently pump his fist, slow and teasing the whole time. )
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he notices that connor hadn't gone the easy way out and muted himself, realising that he actually likes the challenge, which makes him so hot in ways he can't begin to trace. he lets his young lover guide his hand off his dick, and hank gives his ass an appreciative knead and squeeze in return. god, but connor is made for sex, the way he's so supple and firm, made to be ravished and worshipped and not used.
he's spreading those cheeks with his hands now, kneading them and biting back a moan. they can't be heard like this, or they will be roundly fucked, and not in a good way. but there is something real hot about this, even as he lets go of one cheek to slide his fingers up, up, gently nudging between his lips and pushing two inside his mouth, coaxing him to lick, to suck like the obedient boy he is.
he's grinding his cock into connor's smooth hand, happy to quietly indulge as he hears the stranger zip up and the tap running. rolling his hips into his, he eyes the strange new hickey imprinted on his skin, fascinated. he makes another one over it, a little harder this time. ]
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his lips part immediately at the press of hank's fingers and he's very deliberate to keep his head craned, neck twisted so that he can just about look at hank while he takes the man's fingers into his mouth. he doesn't have saliva exactly, but thanks to the analysis features on his tongue he does produce a thin fluid designed to keep them lubricated and free from contamination. turns out it's actually pretty handy for more than just lubricating his tongue sensors.
connor quickly sucks his fingers in completely, tongue rolling up against the underside of them before he sucks, hard. his cheeks hollow a little and his eyes never leave hank as he pushes his tongue between the two fingers, coating them thoroughly. he matches the pace of his fist around hank's cock, slow glides in time with the bob of his head as he basically blows hank's fingers.
his focus breaks when hank sucks at his neck. connor's eyes drop closed and his lips close firmly around hank's fingers to muffle any sound he might make. thank god the tap is running, because even with connor's efforts he still might have given them away.
finally the heavy footsteps move towards the exit. the door swings open, closes again, and connor groans, jaw falling slack with the fingers still resting in his mouth. he pumps his fist a little faster, a little more insistent, pushing his ass back towards hank's hips. )
Hank, I can't wait, come on.
( bit strange that his voice is perfectly clear despite the fingers still in his mouth, but it's hardly the weirdest thing connor has done during sex. )
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still, he loves this moment when he gets to watch connor take his fingers inside him, and it makes his dick jump, immediately stiff in his trousers. it's too damn sexy, and he forgets what he's about to do for a moment, caught by the sight of it and knowing that he'll never, never forget. connor's mouth is hot and wet, and hank knows that it's on purpose. the cave of his mouth so human-like that he's teasing at his tongue now, brushing his fingers deftly over it while his lover sucks. he barely pays attention to the drunk trucker getting out of the bathroom, only alerted to it when connor groans, so low and so sweet that he swears he's going to come soon if he's not careful.
even worse, connor's jerking him off and grinding against him, and it's his turn to gently brush his hand away so he can grasp his dick himself, letting connor's go so he can line himself up, the buckle of his belt brushing against the small of connor's back before he's pushing the fat, thick head of his dick into that tight little hole, aware that it's wet and practically lubed up for him. he can't help a grunt, because fuck, it should be a sin for anyone to feel this good. ]
Shhh. And stop doing that.
[ he can hear voices outside. hank might not be fazed by just how his voice seems so clear despite the fingers in his mouth, but still. ]
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connor quickly brings both of his hands back up to brace against the wall, arching his back and angling his hips to try and give hank better access. there's a moment when his cock first presses against connor that he thinks there's no way he'll be able to stop himself from letting the whole bar know what's happening here when hank bottoms out. he's barely pushing in at all and connor is already breathing out through his nose hard again, short hard exhales to stop himself from moaning loudly again. )
I'm trying.
( his voice is still clear, but at least connor moves his mouth as though he needs it to speak this time. as he presses back against hank's cock he moves his hand off of the door, reaching for hank's hand and pushing a third finger in his mouth. because clearly that's going to help. )
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hank grunts when connor tries to take his third finger to his mouth, and he pulls out of his reluctantly, his fingers slick before he clamps his hand firmly over his mouth to more effectively shut that up, probably, but his connor has always had an annoying way of circumventing things like that.
even so, he keeps his hand firmly clamped around him -- it's not like connor strictly needs to breathe, anyway, although hank himself has to stifle a groan as he presses his face to his shoulder, sinking it right to the base, his balls pressing against those cheeks. he's fully, wholly inside his lover now, gripping connor tight as he shivers, fighting not to move too quickly. he needs to let connor adjust to his girth, his length, his hand letting go of connor's cock to rub up gently against his lower abdomen, as if through it he could feel the barest hint of his cock sheathed deep inside him. ]
god, look at you.
[ he murmurs, low and soft and ragged, before slowly, slowly pulling out. ]
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once hank pushes fully into him he lets out a soft whine, much quieter than the moan, and he's already pushing himself back against the man. hank is much more concerned with connor adjusting to the intrusion than connor is, and connor is quickly urging him to move with insistent rocks of his hips. )
Feels so good, Hank.
( connor moves his mouth under the hand again to make the voice projection a little less weird. once hank starts to pull out again connor has patience for all of a few seconds, and then he flattens his hands on the door and locks his arms in firmly, so that he can use the leverage to fuck himself back on hank's cock. )
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his own response is cut off, and he manages a deep thrust, and another before he stills, buried deep inside him. they have to be quiet, to take it slow, and he's gripping connor's hip (even though he knows he doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of stopping connor if the android sets his mind to something) to keep him slow, still, gently squeezing his jaw in silent warning.
they really have to be quiet, now, and hank rolls his hips to reward him, to try to take the edge off connor's fierce longing to be fucked. ]
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