( this close, connor can identify by smell alone the alcohol, brand, serial number hank has chosen for this evening -- although wisely he keeps the information to himself. hank has never really appreciated his unnecessary interjections before now, or his analysis methods-
which are apparently about to become relevant once again. he doesn't know what exactly he expected to occur. actually that's a lie, he knows exactly what he expected because it was exactly nothing. no part of him could have predicted hank's next move, so when it happens he's caught entirely off guard.
ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy
stop thinking - a direct order? one that conflicted with his primary goal, but not so much that he could immediately override. it's grey, in a system designed entirely for black and white and the LED just flickers, flickers flickers. yellow to briefly, momentarily red and back to yellow as he stumbles forward, balances his weight against the wall. as his lips meet hank's.
ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy
connor is lost. there's no blueprint to follow, no direct path in sight and nowhere to get those answers from. he could ask lieutenant anderson, but he knew that would just end terribly. he could ask amanda, but he wasn't due for diagnostics for another forty six hours. she'd know something was wrong, and something about the idea of jeopardising this...thing, whatever it was, filled connor with dread. he has to make a choice. he has to decide what he wants to do. he needs to stop thinking, and just do something.
connor leans into it, and kisses him back. there's nothing gentle in his response, even if maybe there should be. there's no rulebook on this, the situation exists squarely in a grey area that his programming has never covered. artificial limbs are strong enough that he rely on one arm against the bathroom wall to stabilise himself and drop the other to hank's waist. his hand rests somewhere on hank's lower back as he pulls the lieutenant incrementally up and take his weight. all in all it's a very tame response to quite an aggressively forward move, but for connor it's everything. )
no subject
which are apparently about to become relevant once again. he doesn't know what exactly he expected to occur. actually that's a lie, he knows exactly what he expected because it was exactly nothing. no part of him could have predicted hank's next move, so when it happens he's caught entirely off guard.
ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy
stop thinking - a direct order? one that conflicted with his primary goal, but not so much that he could immediately override. it's grey, in a system designed entirely for black and white and the LED just flickers, flickers flickers. yellow to briefly, momentarily red and back to yellow as he stumbles forward, balances his weight against the wall. as his lips meet hank's.
ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy
connor is lost. there's no blueprint to follow, no direct path in sight and nowhere to get those answers from. he could ask lieutenant anderson, but he knew that would just end terribly. he could ask amanda, but he wasn't due for diagnostics for another forty six hours. she'd know something was wrong, and something about the idea of jeopardising this...thing, whatever it was, filled connor with dread. he has to make a choice. he has to decide what he wants to do. he needs to stop thinking, and just do something.
connor leans into it, and kisses him back. there's nothing gentle in his response, even if maybe there should be. there's no rulebook on this, the situation exists squarely in a grey area that his programming has never covered. artificial limbs are strong enough that he rely on one arm against the bathroom wall to stabilise himself and drop the other to hank's waist. his hand rests somewhere on hank's lower back as he pulls the lieutenant incrementally up and take his weight. all in all it's a very tame response to quite an aggressively forward move, but for connor it's everything. )