( something pretty title later )

[greeted]

( maybe this is a common feature of human acquaintances when drunk. he's aware, of course, that alcohol increases the likelihood of a sexual encounter between individuals less likely to engage in the act sober. he's aware of the importance of friends looking out for each other's best interests. he's even aware that there's a long and varied list of silly things humans try in attempts to reduce the effects of alcohol (coffee, really?) but in all that knowledge and programming regarding humans and alcohol consumption, this had never been mentioned.

to backtrack quickly --

connor finds hank wasted and alone and possibly suicidal.
connor knows he has an obligation to preserve human life.
connor knows hank is a vital aspect of the rogue android investigation.
connor feels-

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

connor knows an improved relationship with hank will lead to a more successful partnership.
connor brings hank to the shower to deaden the effects of ethanol intoxication.
connor should get him a change of clothes.
connor hesitates-

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

hank reaches out.

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

he grabs connor's tie.

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

this isn't in his programming, he's not got a protocol tree to follow in the event of a coworker making any kind of intimate advance. connor can only stare at hank's hand gripped around his tie, LED flickering yellow as his eyes move between the hand and hank's own unreadable expression.

what exactly is the directive here? )

Lieutenant.

( they're both getting wet now, not that connor notices the water falling around them. he's far too busy dealing with some kind of artificial existential crisis to care about a suit he didn't even choose getting damp. he cares about furthering the progress of the case. he cares about navigating this scenario with the best possible outcome for his relationship with lieutenant anderson. he cares-

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

the LED flickers faster, angry flashes in his peripherals a visual confession to the struggle he's battling with to choose a path. there's nothing for this in the manual.

so that's what he does. his voice drops, quiet and gentle and...hesitant? you'd be forgiven for almost thinking androids might have emotions, witnessing this interaction. )

I don't know what to do.

( ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy
ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

help him. )

Comments

[stripey]

( he doesn't push back, which would be surprising in an ordinary circumstance, but hank is at the moment too intoxicated to be thinking straight. he only reached out in the dark and sunk his claws into something he didn't want to leave presently - connor, his mouth on his. it might be purely unconscious impulses dragging him in further. hank would certainly never admit to wanting him - a thing he would've called it before he'd become acquainted with connor - but now it's hard to deny, that carnal desire clawing up in his throat, suffocating him. sex was a dormant thing in him, dead as far as hank was concerned, alongside his wife. but now it's. here. clearly. between the huffy breaths of their kiss and hank shoving his tongue in connor's mouth, it's here.

the weight of it almost knocks him on unconscious - wanting someone, for the first time in what feels like ages. on top of that, the person he wants is an android, is a man, is connor. it'll be something for sober hank to reflect on. drunk hank will reap the benefits of his own impulses, free hand moving to connor's waist to pull at his shirt, untucking it from its formal place. he isn't a soft person, at least not right now - instinct is to pull connor in with him and pin him under the chilly water, bite marks on him and see if they'll stay.

he's never had to wonder if an android can get roughed up, before.

he breaks away for air, and fills up the silence like this - fisting his hand in connor's shirt and tossing him in the bathtub beside him. he'll hop over a pin him ... once he catches his breath. give him a sec. he's not as young as he used to be. )

[greeted]

( connor could quite easily stop this. he's stronger than the lieutenant on a regular day, let alone when hank is intoxicated, and he's not suffering any of the logical impairments that come with alcohol consumption. should he stop it? there's not much space in his programming for 'should' - he's designed to follow direction and hank is extremely clear about what he wants right now, but it feels....confusing.

morals and ethics don't have much space in his programming either, but there's enough for him to feel conflicted about the situation. feel. that's not supposed to be there. deviancy is a programming error that replicates a sense of human emotion, but connor isn't a deviant. he doesn't feel. but he doesn't stop anything either. he's compliant as hank moves him to a new position, internal regulators recognising the drop in temperature from the ice cold water and booting up the heating system to compensate. there's not much space in the tub, not enough for two adult bodies, but connor suspects any acknowledgement of the illogical location choice will break whatever moment is currently happening. surprisingly, he finds doesn't want to do that.

want. that's not supposed to be there either.

his hands find the hem of hank's shirt and he pauses, gripping the material but not moving as he listens to hank's laboured breaths. connor can feel his pulse this close too, within normal ranges but climbing. a normal human response to both stress and arousal. connor doesn't have the same problem, but his own.....state is reflected in the continuous flickering of the LED at his temple. as hank's breathing stabilises connor is left with a choice - he can stop this now, remove himself from the situation and continue on with his primary objective and prepare hank to leave the house. or he can stay.

the LED turns red

and he starts to remove hank's shirt. )

[stripey]

( he sobers up a lot, when connor touches his shirt. tugging at it, making choices. suddenly, the water is too cold, and - he kissed connor. why the fuck did he do that.

well, it's obvious. look at him. look at hank. one of these things is an unfairly attractive model of android, and the other is an old man who's been alone for three years too long. and it's - connor. the difficult pain in his ass, question every fucking thing he does, always has to be right connor. of course hank is attracted to him. he loves headaches, as pronounced by the burning memory of whiskey on his brain. desire was so long deceased in him, he didn't recognize it until it slapped him across the face.

now he's here, lips raw and red, having his shirt tugged on by connor, and he doesn't - he doesn't want to fight it. but he also doesn't want connor to feel like he has to do anything with him, as a product of some objective hank isn't sure he has. another person would probably be fine taking advantage of their assigned android help from cyberlife. hank would rather die than make anyone do anything. )

Connor — ( softer, in comparison. his shirt still goes, the lifting haze of the alcohol still evident enough that he doesn't feel self-conscious. his hands fall on connor's hips, firm, bruising. ) You don't have to do this. ( and then, ) Fuck, it's cold.

( leaning over to turn the water off, thank you very much. )

[greeted]

( see, now a line has been drawn.

it's all been quite non-specific, 'grey area' even up until now. non-verbal instructions can still be seen as instructions, can still be followed like protocol, even when the actions deviate completely from his primary objective. there's only a minor conflict at this stage and he can rationalise the delay because of the benefits to his relationship with hank anderson. he can't rationalise decisions, however, and he can't rationalise choices. he definitely can't rationalise wants and needs but —

that's what he's being asked to do here, right? )

The shock to your system was intended to combat the effects of ethanol consumption.

( he offers up helpfully, but he's quiet. it's soft, could even be considered hesitant. his LED is going off like an absolute rave, flickering aggressively and between colours like nothing hank would have ever witnessed before. there's a lot going on in that processor, that's for sure. )

I don't have to, Lieutenant. ( it's true, he doesn't have to. he could literally carry hank out of the room and into the car right now. or he could carry him to the bedroom ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

ｓｏ ｆｔｗar ｅ ｉｎ ｓ ｔ ａ bi ｌ ｉ ｔy

he wasn't designed to decide. he wasn't designed to desire. he wasn't designed for this. so why is he so determined to keep this going? )

I adapt to the role you need me to play in your life. ( he settles on finally, a response that fits within the programming, but he's still holding hank's shirt. he's still not letting go. he's still trying to edge that up. still leaning closer, as close as their faces can be without actually kissing him again. ) If you desire gratification, or intimacy, I can provide both.

( it's not what he wants to say at all, but it's the closest thing his programming can provide. )

[stripey]

( the LED captures his attention, even as he tries to just focus on connor - clearly there's some turmoil happening somewhere inside all those wires and cogs. hank has never claimed to know shit about androids, but he at least knows people and on a person, he's say this is what indecisiveness looks like. confusion, maybe. rebellion, if he's pushing it.

he's almost positive connor is trying to make a decision that might, in certain circles, be seen as selfish. it's that kind of age old story where the things you create grow minds of their own, where machines learn to be selfish, to act on their own. there's a parallel narrative to them, currently working to stop this behavior in deviants, to find the source and squash it. deviant androids are dangerous, they know this. they kill, they suffer, they - act like humans. he doesn't know whether he wants that for connor or not.

it's a bitch being alive. it's a bitch being capable of wanting to die, beyond the notion of putting yourself down as a defective. would hank's life be easier if he were an android?

probably, but it's at the expense of freedom, and he doesn't take orders from anybody.

ultimately, it just isn't his choice, though. he can want connor, bodily and otherwise, want to discover what androids fuck like, what they sound like, what connor might sound like, but that's only half the deal. connor has to want it too. connor's dangerous, but he isn't evil - no one's abused him, because he hasn't had the time around humans long enough to sample their ugliness. he won't hurt anybody. he just might

feel something. )

Think carefully. ( he says. connor can't say he wants it, it'd be something - disastrous. hank can't take it from him either, because it means something equally disastrous on his own part. so. he has to reverse engineer the sentiment, pose the question in a way that might make sense to an android. he has to work to give them a - loophole, something connor can agree to. ) What's your primary objective? Right now.

[greeted]

My primary objective is always to complete the mission.

( connor jumps to respond quickly ( too quickly? ) with a rushed mumble of words, still not really moving nearer to or further from hank now that their proximity is so close. he can feel the man's breath, short and fast, laboured. he's exerted himself, possibly. he's aroused, definitely - he would estimate a less than one percent chance that the signs being displayed all indicate a level of sexual attraction. but more importantly, and amazingly the part that takes up the vast majority of connor's attention is hank's comment.

think carefully.

this somehow is exactly the correct approach, posed not as wants and desires but as goals and outcomes. steps to be identified and assessed, rather than complex emotions to be isolated and comprehended. this is how he works: a prototype, a new and revolutionary piece of design but still fundamentally an android. )

A significant part of the primary objective involves cultivating a relationship with Lieutenant Anderson.

( he adds after a long pause, eyes trained to a small patch of skin near hank's hairline rather than making eye contact. strange, considering his criticisms usually focus on his habit of holding a prolonged, unwavering gaze. right now he can't do it though, whether needing to avoid what he might see in hank's or to hide what might be shown in his own. )

Given the complex nature of the deviancy case, time is important but not an immediate priority. A delay in attending the crime scene is unlikely to impact the overall success of the mission. ( connor starts slow, careful, but he clearly sounds more assured as he gets further through the sentence. he's rationalising a way to understand whatever strange developments are happening under his skin. finding a way to fit a new priority into a previously rigid understanding of his objectives.

this isn't deviancy, not yet, but his processors are almost audibly whirring at the work required to make these jumps. his LED definitely hasn't stopped blinking. it hasn't since the moment hank decided to kiss him really, but now it's something else entirely, cycling aggressively through flashes and stutters and colours like his life depends on it.

life? ) My primary objective is to engage in physical intimacy with Lieutenant Anderson.

( and once the conclusion has been drawn, he doesn't even give hank a chance to make a comment about his dirty talk needing work. it's barely said, and then he's pressing his mouth roughly to the other man's. connor's actions mirror hank's earlier quite closely, not an exact replica but certainly inspired by. his lips move against hank's, demanding and insistent, and his hands quickly slip up the ratty, wet t-shirt to run his hands up the man's chest, and that's slower, more deliberate. committing each detail to memory. )

[stripey]

( he struggles, but he gets there eventually. hank watches the slow creep of acceptance swarm on his face, slight and minuscule things a person not looking for wouldn't notice, since the LED really isn't saying much. his eyes are steadier, not reading the ad-like pop ups in his vision. he's steadier, calmer after apparently having convinced himself that this is what he wants. hank wonders if he'll ever really believe that's the truth. androids aren't supposed to want for anything other than what they're told to want, and hank lets his mind wander back to if he ever explicitly told connor to want this. even if he hadn't, connor is state of the art tech, more advanced than anything seen before. maybe he's advanced enough to what hank wants before he even wants it, convince himself he's some kind of - mission to be conquered.

it's the only way it makes sense, hank decides. he is old, and he is ugly, and overweight and bitter and nasty. no one is supposed to want him - he built his new life specifically on the notion that no one wants him here, which is a sentiment he and the rest of humanity can agree on. in that way, he's a little like an android himself. he's only here to do his job. once he stops being good at it, maybe it really will be lights out on him.

he shouldn't idolize suicide while he's kissing connor. it's a good feeling, he can't deny that. he'll find a way later to hate himself for it, to pile it higher on the pack of burdens he carries around like the badge he has - somewhere in the kitchen. for now he can let himself enjoy it. the alcohol is burned out of his system, and in its stead is the silicone and plastic taste of connor on his tongue, permeating his senses. he really, really never thought that could be sexy, and yet. here it is. hank stutters a breath against his mouth, craning his head to press kisses on the pale milk of his neck.

his fingers, deftly but not smooth enough, undo the buttons of connor's shirt. bare, icy wet palms slide against his torso, feeling every perfect, hand crafted ridge of his stomach, the artificial curve of his waist. )

Fuck.

( he's totally fucked, isn't he. )

[greeted]

( hank might be in the middle of an existential crisis but connor is going through something...completely undefinable. there's a kind of high that comes with "making a decision" - as much as it can be considered a decision, anyway - and connor is just throwing himself into this action. it's only when hank pulls back that he remembers humans need to breathe and makes a note for a timer prompt to pop up when they kiss next time. he doesn't want hank to pass out, after all.

his head drops back at the contact to his throat. it's interesting - he doesn't know if he would describe the sensation as pleasurable, but it's something. it's something that makes him want more, maybe. definitely he doesn't want him to stop, and while one hand rather roughly shoves hank's shirt up the other drops down and slides along his hip. drags over his waistband. stops at the zipper. )

Can I?

( the question is low and throaty, as much to do with pre-programmed seduction mechanisms as it is his whirring mechanisms unable to dedicate enough processor usage to modulate his voice correctly. his hand grazes over hank's crotch, first gently and the with a little more purpose. his palm rests, flat but firm over the trousers against the line of hank's cock, but he doesn't move further. waiting for the response first. )