greeted | ( do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me )

( 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.

Edited 2018-10-06 03:03 (UTC)

( 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. )

( 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 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?

Edited 2018-10-07 04:03 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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? ]

( 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.

[ 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: ]

You got your keys?

( 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.

( he's a little nervous. )

( 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. )

[ 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? ]

you make me say oh.

a little less conversation, and a little more touch my body.

( breathe in, exhale, i've poked a nerve )

we can't make any promises now, can we, babe?

but you can make me a drink.