Connor RK800 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
realtimeanalysis) wrote2025-01-01 04:39 pm
realtimeanalysis) wrote2025-01-01 04:39 pm
@bootyshortsforoldmen
( who: Hank Anderson & Connor RK800
when: a few days after dis
where: Eden Club, Hank's Car, Cyberlife Store/Repair & Upgrade Station
warnings: TBA; Robotics 'gore', Android Sex Club, etc )
[ Five minutes isn't supposed to be a lot of time.
It is a lot of time for someone who processes as fast as Connor, and it might also be a lot of time to sit parked outside the front of an android sex club.
Connor had already explained that to Hank earlier that morning, although heading straight to Cyberlife headquarters would be the fastest way to get everything done in one trip, he would prefer to avoid revisiting that particular location. Illogical? Absolutely... Connor by no means expected RK900 to suddenly appear from behind some pristine corridor. He and Hank had taken care of that issue, Hank had destroyed Connor's evolved model.
(But, then again, Connor had also been destroyed, once. Gunned down, taking bullets for Hank. So how unfounded are these unfounded worries?)
Regardless, Connor had opted to get his upgrades at a smaller Cyberlife store, selected becasuse it features the most advanced model of their android maintenance hubs, tucked into the back room for repairs and upgrades. The shop is a small individually owned franchise so it does not happen to stock, by default at all times, a huge assortment of android dicks and other such bits.
The resulting math leaves Hank waiting in his car outside the android sex club while Connor was supposed to go inside and pick up his new parts. Then, they would drive to the shop of Connor's choosing for the actual install process.
But as Connor finally returns to the car in crisp sharp strides, he is conspicuously empty handed. His expression is slightly tart with irritation as he knocks on Hank's window, and gestures for him to either roll it down, or open the door. ]
I'm sorry, you're going to have to come inside. [ His typical polite manner is citrus-soured ] The establishment's owner keeps insisting I need the physical signature of my registered owner to pick up my order
[ Honestly there's no reason to insert such old world technology into this new day and age, apart from being a pain in the ass absolutely on purpose. Obviously, at least to Connor, someone with their fingers in Cyberlife bureaucracy is punching back against the whole new "androids are people" thing.
Connor is not even surprised, but he is reasonably annoyed. ]
when: a few days after dis
where: Eden Club, Hank's Car, Cyberlife Store/Repair & Upgrade Station
warnings: TBA; Robotics 'gore', Android Sex Club, etc )
[ Five minutes isn't supposed to be a lot of time.
It is a lot of time for someone who processes as fast as Connor, and it might also be a lot of time to sit parked outside the front of an android sex club.
Connor had already explained that to Hank earlier that morning, although heading straight to Cyberlife headquarters would be the fastest way to get everything done in one trip, he would prefer to avoid revisiting that particular location. Illogical? Absolutely... Connor by no means expected RK900 to suddenly appear from behind some pristine corridor. He and Hank had taken care of that issue, Hank had destroyed Connor's evolved model.
(But, then again, Connor had also been destroyed, once. Gunned down, taking bullets for Hank. So how unfounded are these unfounded worries?)
Regardless, Connor had opted to get his upgrades at a smaller Cyberlife store, selected becasuse it features the most advanced model of their android maintenance hubs, tucked into the back room for repairs and upgrades. The shop is a small individually owned franchise so it does not happen to stock, by default at all times, a huge assortment of android dicks and other such bits.
The resulting math leaves Hank waiting in his car outside the android sex club while Connor was supposed to go inside and pick up his new parts. Then, they would drive to the shop of Connor's choosing for the actual install process.
But as Connor finally returns to the car in crisp sharp strides, he is conspicuously empty handed. His expression is slightly tart with irritation as he knocks on Hank's window, and gestures for him to either roll it down, or open the door. ]
I'm sorry, you're going to have to come inside. [ His typical polite manner is citrus-soured ] The establishment's owner keeps insisting I need the physical signature of my registered owner to pick up my order
[ Honestly there's no reason to insert such old world technology into this new day and age, apart from being a pain in the ass absolutely on purpose. Obviously, at least to Connor, someone with their fingers in Cyberlife bureaucracy is punching back against the whole new "androids are people" thing.
Connor is not even surprised, but he is reasonably annoyed. ]
no subject
[ Connor says the word thoughtfully, testing out the concept almost like tasting it. That seems... fun. And certainly, Connor could also hop online and risk a google-delve or two if he wants this kind of information, but... there is a lot, a lot of information out there, and he trusts Hank to steer him in the right direction. ]
I see. I'm strong enough that most restraints wouldn't actually deter me from moving, but I suppose that's where giving up control to the other person comes in. Though I think I enjoy the idea of collars a little more.
[ He spares a small blip of processing to watch the road; they're heading in the right direction, and it's just before mid-day on a Sunday, leaving the streets and roads populated but only sparsely. It's sunny and only mildly-cold, a breath of January's Thaw and the scattered flurries sparkle like silver glitter in the fierce raw sunshine. ]
Interesting. I... think I'm seeing the appeal of the symbolism. Are you more interested in wearing the collar, or holding the leash? Metaphorically-- or not, I suppose.
[ Spanking? That's... definitely tempting Connor to open up a thought-tab for a casual internet search. He really shouldn't-- he's not going to right now, but... maybe later? ]
I enjoy your 'horndog' ideas, I thought we established this already? [ Wiseass mode activated, Connor's smirk is subtle but elvish, proper but just a touch vulpine. ] You must really be enjoying this discussion, if your heart rate and shift in circulation is any indication. For all your self-depreciation regarding your age, your body is certainly readily responsive. I haven't even touched you
[ The look he shoots Hank takes far too much satisfied pride in his flustered sate; a savoring smile over half-hooded eyes. ]
And here I wanted you to join me for the appointment. Should we change subject matter?
[ He's not thinking about earning that spanking, but he absolutely is. ]
no subject
Yes, Connor. Collars. All sorts of different colors. Materials. Could get your name on it, or — [Hank’s name is an option too, although they’re already dealing with the issue of his name being on something it shouldn’t be, so he avoids bringing that up] — well, anyway. Would say there are shops for these kinda things, but you might just go and order something online, huh?
[Online shopping is convenient, for sure. Might also give Hank a heart attack if they’re at home and Connor just pops on a leather collar with a little dangly heart, or...
Maybe Connor wouldn’t like leather. Maybe he would prefer another material. Hank doesn’t know, but he likes to think about it: Connor with an array of collars all spread out. Him getting to try each one, figuring out which he might like best.]
What a fucking question to ask. [Hank sucks in a breath. Presses his lips together. God, his heartbeat is so damn loud. Roaring.] Guess it depends on the day. The mood. The — you. Sometimes I just wanna let go, sure, but other times I’d like to... make you let go.
[Hank’s hands ache from all this steering wheel squeezing. Soon, though. Soon. Down Fifty-third Street.]
But whatever you might feel comfortable with. If you want me in a collar, you got it. If you want me holding the leash, you got that too. I wouldn’t say I’m hard to please when it comes to you. Not at all.
[There is something deeply arousing about Connor pointing out that he hasn’t even touched him that hits Hank at his core. This isn’t another grand kink awakening, is it?
...It is. Definitely is. Could he come untouched? It sounds impossible, but with Connor, that doesn’t seem to matter.]
I’m driving. [Hank says this as if Connor needs the reminder. Stealing a glance over at him, and, fuck.] Hey, hey, hey. You’re looking at me like — fuck. You just love torturing me, don’t you?
[Pointedly, Hank doesn’t ask for a change in topic. He considers it, but as flustered as he is, it’s nice. Talking about these things. Connor wanting to talk about them — and with Hank. Which sounds like an obvious thing, since they’re partners in a whole new sense now, but it will never cease to amaze him in a breathless sort of way.]
Can — you can talk about whatever you want. But. [Taking his right hand off the wheel to jab a finger in Connor’s direction.] Don’t try to make me come. A boner is one thing, and getting my pants all dirty is a whole other thing.
[Then, softer:] I’d like to come with you. Inside. If you’ll let me. For however far. However long.
no subject
There's a vast number of online shops, yes. More options than we had case files. As fast as I can browse and process them... it's still difficult to discern where to start, or what I'll enjoy most.
[ Connor nods along his understanding, easily categorizing Hank's answer as 'both', and then, 'both, aligning with Connor's interest'. ]
I'll keep that in mind, and I appreciate your willingness to allow me to experiment. I can see that your driving Hank, you don't need to point that out [ he does not quite bat his eyelashes, but he neatly folds one knee across the other and drapes his laced fingers across his pristinely packaged cargo. ] It isn't my fault you're so distracted by my eyes [ It's vibrantly affectionate teasing, pestering Hank where as before he might have only politely apologized for being a distraction, instead. ]
Understood. I will keep my hands to myself. If you are willing to attend the appointment with me, then I won't make a mess of you before we go in. [ His head cants just so, as though tipped by the weight of the thought wandering across his mind ] It's a pity I can't mitigate the mess myself [ his gaze combs down Hank's body like a heavy-petting hand. ] You could fuck my mouth to completion and remain relatively clean. Sadly, I should keep my internal storage clean before something like this
[ Yes Hank, he absolutely loves torturing you. It might even be his favorite thing. ]
no subject
We’ll figure it out, sweetheart. I’m here. [Not that Hank planned on being anywhere else whenever Connor might want to try on sexy collars.] We can look into options later. The basics, maybe. Somewhere to start, so it won’t be as overwhelming.
Think you do need the reminder that I’m driving, actually. [Another glance tossed Connor’s way, this one through thinned eyes.] And again: driving.
[Hank swallows. Because he is tempted to feel Connor’s touch, even now. Maybe especially now. He’s never much been into the thought of sex while he’s driving, but again, Connor’s good at making him want any and everything.]
Yeah. Should keep your slides clean and all that.
[Imagining now the press of Connor’s palm over his pants. Squeezing. Denied release by the awkwardness of his jeans, but so close.]
Tell me... what you wanna do first. After.
[Almost at the mall. Hank can do this.
...If Connor stops looking at him like he wants Hank, here and now.]
It’s okay if it changes. Or you don’t know. Guess I’m just...
[He chuckles: a little darkly.]
Being bad, too. If you can be good and keep your hands — and your mouth — to yourself, maybe I can give you a reward. Later.
[As if Hank would even refuse Connor's wishes, whatever they might be. But he could still brighten it up with praise, telling Connor how good and perfect and beautiful he is, regardless.]
no subject
Perhaps after we're finished here. Leather seems fairly standard affair for sensual play, and I already know I enjoy black, greys, and blues... [ Connor's focus sheers through Hank on every level; can can watch the man's heart beat, track his blood-flow, watch the electricity spike and crackle in his brain. And he watches everything, every single detail just as hungrily as he observes Hank's restricted arousal. ]
And again, I'm exactly aware of everything you're doing, driving included [ He doesn't quite say 'I enjoy watching you sweat', but the sentiment sneaks in his subtext and his small serpentine smirk. One neatly sculpted eyebrow floats at the mention of some kind of reward for his obedient behavior, and the android's smile goes indulgent and enticed. ]
A reward? Such as? [ Dicey subject matter to dance around when Hank's already got a boner and they've almost arrived, but... Connor is, as always, relentlessly curious about his partner's thoughts.
A hand flits from the edge of his parcel and Connor almost, almost touches Hank's knee. His hand hovers in the air just above Hank's leg but the android pauses, stalled in carefully calculating uncertainty, and eventually returns his hand to absently and needlessly adjust his own tie. ]
It's a tall order, but I'll do my best. When I can see how badly you want me touch you, it's extremely difficult not to comply. Eagerly, even. Though I would prefer to be on time for my appointment, no matter how distracting you and your hard dick insist on being
[ It's all playful blame; Connor is being typically mischievous but beneath that, he's so very glad for Hank's company in this endeavor. He's never been conscious for bodily maintenance before, and while he's certainly not afraid, per-say... he's not sure what to expect. What if they want Hank's signature again? What if they have to switch him off for some reason?
Connor almost, almost touches Hank's leg again. He catches himself at the very last second. ]
You almost got me again. When did you get so irresistibly charming? [ His smile is utterly enamored. ]
no subject
You and your blues again. [Although the last time they discussed this, it’d been about the color blue matching Hank’s eyes.] You’d look great in any color, anything, but it’s good to know what you’re about.
[Just like Hank enjoys his loud shirts and straight-leg jeans.]
Mmm. Wouldn’t you like to know? [Fingers drumming along the steering wheel again: not as tight as before, now that Hank isn’t trying to will his boner away.
And Connor’s managed to distract him from his anger, too. Huh.]
Maybe I’ll let you pick your prize. [Connor’s more creative than him, anyway. Sexier too, obviously.] Or maybe it’s supposed to be a surprise.
[Hank can’t think of anything that Connor might ask of him that he’d say no to. But again: Connor’s the creative one, all fresh and new to pleasure, although he makes Hank feel like a novice in the best way.]
Maybe I’ll let you ride my cock. Hell, maybe I’ll ride yours. Or maybe — [when Hank looks over at Connor again, he smirks] — I’ll let you in on a secret. Whisper in your ear somethin’ you could do that’d really turn me on.
[Not that he really needs any more ammo in that regard. And maybe Connor won’t want to indulge him — which Hank would understand for multiple reasons — but he’d have the knowledge, regardless. The intimacy of Hank’s secret.
Just a little name. Mortifying in any other context, but with Connor... he could admit it. Maybe.]
Don’t think I’ve got many of those left, y’know. Secret ways to get me off.
But you’ve gotta be — [using his right hand now to touch Connor’s: neither pushing him away nor closer] — good. Can you be a good boy for me?
[Hank can see the mall coming up once his eyes are back on the road. Pulling into the parking lot as he mutters:] And it’s not me who’s all “irresistibly charming.”
no subject
[ His smile is sweeter than sly and he doesn't need to mention the origin of his preference again. Obviously, he's talking about Hank's eyes, like a love-struck dolt. ]
Are you sure you want to trust me with free reign and new body modifications? That could be... extremely time consuming [ Like a threat and a promise, at once. There's a definite spark of interest in Connor's expression at the mention of a secret though, as much as every previous option had also engaged his imagination. As creature designed to gather and sort information, secrets are a special delight. ]
Definitely the secret [ he folds his hands together to avoid any stray urges to touch; his smile shifts from perfect synthetic charm to genuine, almost clumsy enjoyment. ] Though I really hope those aren't mutually exclusive options.
[ Connor makes sure to stay perfectly still as Hank touches his hand; he assumes that doesn't break rules, though Hank is certainly stirring up the android's inclination to touch. His fingers twitch under Hank's hand and he wants to tangle their fingers, pull Hank closer, kiss his knuckles and--
--learn whatever that elusive secret is, so his hands remain still. He's not exactly sure why he should burn so much processing off the fairly innocuous phrase, 'good boy' but his scanners scrub the audio recording about twenty three unnecessary times, producing a feeling not too unlike dizziness for the android. He likes that-- likes it enough that a sub-routine springs up to play Hank's voice in a loop through the back of Connor's thoughts. ]
I'll do my best... but you're not making it easy on me
[ Poor Connor, how ever must it feel to be teased by a lover who can find all your hidden buttons? Karma, dude. Hank has made Connor blush before (that almost alien blue glow) but it was while they were kissing, or otherwise hopelessly entangled. 'He barely touched me' Connor observes whilst acutely aware of cooling mechanism casting the hue across his face. Okay. So Hank had called him a 'good boy' and that produced... some reactions.
Maybe he should... close that sub-routine now... stop... stop thinking about it so much. When Connor sighs, it's not exactly emotive, and his breath is warm enough to fog the glass of his window. ]
Hold on, before we get out of the car...
[ Connor turns to face Hank in his seat, just as the engine goes quiet. He would place a hand on Hank's shoulder but he's still adhering to the "hands to himself" bargain, so instead he lets his gaze go tender with adoration. ]
I want to thank you. For... all of this. For driving me, for agreeing to come with me, for signing for me, for... [ he goes quiet for a second, gaze darting back and forth in a tick of deep contemplation while (in order to keep his hands busy) Connor curls a curious finger around his own chin, and taps his jaw with his thumb. ]
Thank you for always being the one that shows me the best parts of being alive. I'm... I still don't know exactly what being in love is, but... [ Connor's eyes trace across Hank's face, taking a slow path to the man's mouth; the android softly sinks his teeth into his own bottom lip, swaying forward. He closes ninety perfect of the distance between them, takes them most of the way to a kiss certain to be so sweet and soft and adoring... and then stops, murmuring instead into the air in front of Hank's lips:] I'm learning
no subject
I know, sweetheart. Glad there’s something about me you can keep with you like that.
[Hank can’t help but meet Connor’s tenderness with his own. It’s so easy to shift back to his gruff, evasive demeanor — his feelings on other people still very much boil down to “leave me the hell alone” — but with Connor, he wants to cling to the other side of the spectrum as much as he can.]
Suppose how much of that is “mutually exclusive” depends on how good you are. But all right: I’ll keep that secret prepped and ready to go for you.
[He takes his time touching Connor’s hand: rubbing his palm against him. The pads of his fingers run along each digit, so much more slender than Hank’s own. Defined with the strong curves of his knuckles where Hank’s are thick.]
Not making it easy on you, hmm? Sounds like you’re getting a taste of your own damn medicine.
[Hank melts at that tenderness again. Heart tugging.
Learning. Connor’s learning. Even if he never says the words, it’ll be okay. How many people have said the words to Hank and not meant it? This comes with its own sort of ache — he doesn’t deserve Connor, doesn’t deserve those three little words — but the intrusive thought is weak. Hank can fight back against it, batting away the uncertainty, because Connor makes him feel loved.
And that’s what matters, really.]
Lookin’ a little blue there, Con. You feeling okay? [Then, to clarify on the rules of their little game so as not to confuse Connor — and not goad him into being naughty — Hank says:] Didn’t say I had to keep my hands, or my mouth, to myself.
[Which has very sexy connotations, and Hank shouldn’t be indulging these thoughts right now, but he imagines Connor laying back in bed. Hank’s hands all over him: trailing up his thighs. Leaning down to kiss around his new cock.
Telling Connor to lie still. And maybe it’s a rule Hank mumbled out: “If you touch me, I stop.” Not that he would stop, but how good might that get Connor to behave? If at all? Or would he see right through Hank?
But again: he really shouldn’t be thinking about these things right now. If he could just unzip his pants, relieve some of that damn pressure...
No, of course. Not now.]
You’re doing great so far, Connor. [Hank says this with that tantalizing hair’s breadth of space between their lips. He could bridge the distance. He could. But then Hank would slip his tongue into Connor’s mouth, would grab his hand and press it against his still-clothed dick, and...
He curls one hand around the back of Connor’s neck. Holds him close as he smiles. Then, leaning up — lips like a whisper over the tip of Connor’s nose — Hank kisses his forehead.] So good. Even when you’re being a damn tease.
[Getting out of the car, and pulling away from Connor, is the last thing he wants to do, but alas. He still has his hand on Connor’s neck, his lips against his forehead. But everything good must come to an end.]
You don’t gotta thank me for all that. I want to do these things for you — whatever I can. Whatever makes things easier, or better. Whatever helps make this shitty world a little more tolerable for you. Because, Connor...
[Another kiss pressed to Connor’s forehead: soft. Sweeter than Hank has ever wanted to be with anyone. Then he finally is pulling back, albeit reluctantly. Looking down into Connor’s eyes.]
You make life... really goddamn special.
[Not “tolerable,” no: that isn’t strong enough. Hank will always have his issues. His demons. There’s no getting rid of those, only softening their blows. And sometimes, even with Connor and his kisses and his “I’m learning,” things will be hard. Some nights more than others: holidays. Birthdays. Random days where Hank just feels himself slipping away.
It’s a process, wanting to live again. But leaving Connor now, in any way — that terrifies Hank.
So he won’t. With everything Hank has in him, he won’t let himself leave: both in the context of death as well as him being an ornery asshole, trying to push Connor away on the days he’s convinced Connor could have better if Hank just distances himself.]
Should — [clearing his throat, gripping the door handle now as he pushes it open] — get you to that appointment, yeah?
no subject
I am doing my utmost to remain... well behaved. I want to touch you so badly... but I want that privileged information, too
[ The feeling of Hank touching his hand devours insidious amounts of his attention; he could forget why he's here, that they've got a very important appointment to keep, that he's sitting in a car in a public parking-lot, all because he's got to focus on holding still while Hank touches him. He presses his teeth into his own bottom lip as Hank's hand curls around the back of his neck and he wants that last breath of space between them gone but he wants to win this game, too.
He makes a restless, faintly frustrated, flustered hum that is not quite a groan.]
You're enjoying my distress, aren't you? I suppose that's fair. Though I'm not trying to tease you. I just really want to kiss you, and this is as far as I could get without breaking our rules
[ The kiss to his forehead brings a strange flurry of sensations, whirring around him like a cyclone of colorful petals. It's not enough, but it is. Connor wants more, but just this much is perfectly imperfect, too. His expression goes dreamy and he looks entirely enamored, a cobra strung on a charmer's tune. ]
Hank... [ and the feeling only intensifies when he says how special Connor makes his life. All his proclivity for sharp wit and smooth charm fly right out the window and he just looks at Hank like he's writing love-songs in the back of his head. Hearing such a personal, genuine confession... it's at least on tier with how humans view 'I love you's, if not... more valuable, somehow. At least to Connor. ] I'm honored to be someone who makes your life feel special.
[ Connor almost forgot the weight of his cargo in his lap; it doesn't quite startle him to find it there, but he had been so hung up, so wrapped inside all the data of Hank that everything else shifted out of focus. ]
Right... It would be especially poor time management to end up late, now
[ Connor climbs out of the car with most of his usual grace, keeping the large black box tucked securely under his arm. The parking lot is not overly crowded and half the shops are closed, but their destination, 'Andy's Android Alcove' is brightly lit by a few animated neon signs. Finally being in range of the destination, Connor feels a small shock of-- what? Excitement? That's definitely part of it. He comes around to Hank's side of the car, if only for the familiar comfort of walking beside him as they approach the barred glass door.
It opens automatically from the inside-- not a smooth sideways-swish but some kind of jerry-rigged Lego-arm, pushing open the swinging door from inside. Connor is faintly charmed by the creative novelty, and he enjoys being able to step inside beside Hank, too.
Inside, it's actually an android making a scrap-book behind the cramped front desk. He's a hulking model, taller than Connor, broader than Hank, but he's taking very careful care in placing stickers on the pages of his scrap book.
Upon seeing Connor and Hank, he straightens up, smiles broadly, and greets them. After a few minutes of chatting with Connor (and not asking Hank to sign anything) the tall tech-savvy android invites both Hank and Connor into the back room. ]
Would it be terribly ill behaved of me to take your hand, for a moment?
[ He's still teasing gently, but a small grain of apprehension has worked it's way into Connor's voice. As they step together into the back room, he easily spots the machine he's going to get plugged into, a circular-hub with needle-like arms that spin around the center-point-- soon to be him. ]
I'm usually not awake for maintenance
[ He tells Hank, curious over his own excess of caution as Android Andy pops the lid off Connor's parcel, looks mildly impressed, and then starts casually plugging the entire thing into an open panel on the maintenance hub. ]
no subject
Not trying to tease me, huh? Sounds like a first.
[If Connor can look at him like this — again, all moon-and-stars — then Hank thinks he must be doing something right. For the first time in a long while, maybe. And it’s greedy too, but if Hank could somehow magically inspire that sort of look on the regular, well...
His life already is special, like he said. Because of Connor. It feels selfish to ask for more: to see that look of adoration every day, to kiss him every day.
But it’s nice to know what he himself wants, too, because for the longest time, it’s been — was — something akin to nothing.
As they walk toward the shop, Hank’s intrusive thoughts start gnawing at him again. Maybe it’ll be like the club all over again. Maybe they’ll be rude, hurt Connor in some way — but seeing the guy behind the front desk helps ease the worry in Hank’s chest. Not because he’s an android, although that helps too, but because he’s plastering stickers in a little scrapbook. Just something normal people do, not like the owner at the club who was acting like he had a stick up his ass. Hank imagines that guy finds very little joy in his life.
And good: no having Hank sign anything, no asking if he consents to what-the-fuck-ever. Because this is Connor’s big day, and it should feel like it. Hank’s just here for moral support.]
Maybe it’d be a little naughty of you. But I can still hold your hand, remember? Was gonna do it outside, anyway, but you had your box. [He reaches for Connor’s hand, giving it a soft squeeze. Then, speaking more gently, devoid of teasing:] Really, though, Connor. Honey. ‘Course you can hold my hand. Won’t hold it against ya. You really are doing great.
[Hank isn’t sure what to make of the machine-contraption thing. It worries him, sure, but Connor probably knows a lot more about it than him — that it’s safe, anyway. And Hank trusts Connor.]
I’m here. Won’t leave unless you tell me to. Might need to sit down after a bit, but I’m not leaving. [Bringing Connor’s hand up to his lips now, brushing a kiss across his knuckles.] Haven’t been too kind to my old man joints as of late, Connor.
no subject
The cozy back room of the shop seems a lot less hostile than Cyberlife's headquarters. There's a human woman sitting in the very back corner of the small space (maybe that's Andy?) but she barely glances up as the more sociable android shows in the customers. She's tinkering with a broken-looking android hand, and apparently, cannot be assed to bother with basic pleasantries. ]
I appreciate the encouragement. I'm not afraid. [ Sounds pretty close to 'I'm not a deviant'. ] Or... hm. I guess I'm just not used to... not knowing what to expect. Knowing I can at least expect your company is a big help. [ The kiss to his knuckles almost makes him preen. ] Maybe we'll pencil a massage for your poor, stressed joints somewhere into the evening
[ Connor almost gets both feet into his typical smooth candor when Maybe-Andy-the-Android wonders over, (a little awkwardly) asks Connor to strip and stand in the center of the service machine. He had expected to have to remove his clothing, that part isn't exactly a surprise. As Connor sheds and folds his jacket with mostly clinical detachment, Android-Andy hauls over a folding chair and sits it next to the big bulky machine, just next to where Connor will be standing. He says 'there ya go' to Hank and heads back over to the control panel, making himself look busy while he waits for Connor to get ready.
And to Connor's credit, he strips down to his skin-layer without too much fuss. It's only when he goes to step under the arms of the machine that, from the back of the room, Andy-the-Lady speaks up suddenly, 'you'll fuck up the machine if you don't take off your skin!'
Connor had no idea she was even paying attention. But yes, that... that makes sense, and Connor feels silly for not having realized that himself. He looks to Hank with a fleck of uncertainty, but his smile remains and he can't say he want his lover to leave. Is Connor feeling... embarrassed? Now he enjoys having his fingers completely naked for some very specific circumstances... and these are not those. ]
You've never seen me completely naked before. It... might be strange for you
[ Connor will lose so many identifying features. His hair, his skin color, the brown of his eyes... will that be unpleasant for Hank? ]
no subject
Would be okay if you were scared, Connor. Hell, I’m scared.
[Hank looks around the room, at the people working and the machinery. Unfamiliar; strangers to him. He doesn’t distrust them, exactly. Connor probably looked up a place with good reviews and lots of experience and all that. Everything boils down to Hank trusting Connor.
But it’s still anxiety-inducing, of course. And androids are different physically, sure, but in essence, Hank is standing with Connor, waiting for a surgery of sorts to start. On the person who means the most to him.
Everything will be fine this time.]
It’s something new, yeah. And it’s not even me who’s getting all this done.
[He groans at the thought of a massage: Connor’s fingers digging into all his aches. Which would be extremely sexy, as everything with Connor ends up being. The thought doesn’t help his flagging erection, so he tries to think of other things.
Like holding Connor’s hand. The sound of his voice. The warmth of his presence.]
A massage sure would be nice, but today’s your day. Let’s focus on you.
[He nods in thanks for the chair. Even murmurs a quick “thank you,” which he doesn’t often say. If anything, his fear should harden him: that’s what it usually does.
But right now, Hank’s just thinking about Connor, really.]
Doesn’t — [matter, he almost says, but that’s not right. Of course it matters. And of course it’ll be strange, but it’ll be beautiful in a way, too. People have seen Connor without his skin, undoubtedly, but how many of those people were ones that Connor chose to let see?] I’m gonna love you anyway, so take off your skin — when you’re ready — and let’s get this show on the road.
no subject
Allowing me to spoil you is spoiling me, Hank
[ Connor explains with a casually adoring expression. The encouragement makes him feel far more at ease in lifting his hand and tapping a sensor just aside his LED, signaling his skin layer to retract. Even outside of intimate situations Connor's hands end up bare fairly often, but it's seldom more than that. He's typically very careful with his hardware (sans that one time he dove for bullets) so he's never been damaged enough to lose the color from his eyes or the hair from his head. Maybe he feels just a little attached to those transient traits, despite the fact he could change them with a thought.
He still feels more naked without his skin than without his clothing. An odd, difficult to define vulnerability, suddenly thinking about how anywhere Hank so happened to touch would feel so much more. That notion has Connor almost aware of the air on his bare white and grey alloy. ]
Alright... I'm ready
[ Connor moves like he's going to step into the service hub's range but at the last second he stops, turns on his heels, and against his programmed-instincts for propriety, he wraps his arms around Hank in a fierce sudden embrace. He's not... even sure who the hug is for. For Hank? For himself? Connor can't decide, and a few short second later he's pulling back, and muttering (in reference to their game) ]
That didn't count, I had my fingers crossed
[ He demonstrates his first and second fingers entwined, as though it should (and why not) be the universal, unquestionable symbol of 'this does not count'. ]
no subject
We need to find some way to spoil you that isn’t about me, Con.
[Although it’s sweet: Connor’s insistence on being nice to Hank in a perpetual cycle. Beyond sweet, really. But it doesn’t have to be about Hank all the time.]
No, baby. [He can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this much. Worry rippling through him and still Connor manages to comfort him — even though it’s not about him.] ‘Course it doesn’t count.
[His arms wrap around Connor too, as brief as the embrace is. It’s becoming muscle memory, almost: Hank kissing Connor’s forehead. Letting him go when he pulls away.]
Doubly doesn’t count, okay? [Hank raises his hand to cross his fingers.] Had mine crossed too, see? Now in you go.
[Squeezing Connor’s shoulder, then... trying to wrestle with the worry in his chest. Biting it back enough for him to grab the foldable chair and plop down. Not far: never far. He can sprint if Connor needs him to. If he asks. For anything.
He hopes these Andy and co. are good people. They’ve been patient so far. Hank just wants to be able to trust someone with Connor, since he knows he couldn’t perform any sort of maintenance like this himself. He needs to know Connor is in good hands, just like — Hank imagines — Connor would want the same if their roles were reversed. The best care he could possibly receive.]
no subject
It's hard to manage any retrospect when the cord plugs into the back of his skull though. That's the moment Connor reached out for Hank's hand again.
Andy and-- Andy? The human woman and the behemoth-android, they seem like decent enough folk. They're respectful with Connor as the machine whirs around him, the android tells him what to expect before it's going to happen. Andy-the-android is friendly and approachable, Andy-the-Lady is quiet and does not bother them, for the most part.
Connor had almost started to relax, somehow; it had been weird watching his chest-plates get unscrewed and removed, as well as watching his blue-tinged bio-components throb with the pulsing of his chest-pump. It's disconcerting, sure, but it doesn't really hurt, it just feels like Nothing when his sensors shut off. Like his body isn't really his anymore, and that's a bizarre feeling to comprehend.
It would be easy to start feeling detected from himself but... he can't, not seeing Hank holding his hand, even when he can't feel it anymore. Just the sight keeps him anchored, and calm.
He does grip Hank's hand much harder than he means to when his chest-plates get replaced. He doesn't feel anything until the final screws are sealed and the sensor-net comes back alive, this time with brand new silicone-soft hardware nipples installed. The small grey-buds instantly tighten and Connor blows out a hot breath and doesn't actually break any of Hank's fingers with the strength of his grasp.
So he endeavors to be much more careful by the time the second and third install items loom around him, taken up by those mechanical arms. He doesn't squeeze Hank's hand again, but his toes curl and a tremor rolls through him when the mechanics carefully lift him (plugged in at the base of the spine) and nudge apart his knees to remove the blank plating between his legs.
Okay this feels. Pretty fucking vulnerable. And Connor doesn't even have anything of note installed yet. He watches the machine take away his blank crotch plate and return with his shiny new dick; at first he was weirdly avoiding looking and now he can't stop-- which is silly, because he already scanned the hardware, he already knew the specs. But now this part won't just belong to him. It will be him.
It isn't him, it isn't, and then there's a click and a hiss and suddenly it is. He doesn't mean to say anything, especially to cuss but--]
--Fuuuck. Hmph. Pardon me.
[ Android-Andy gives a warm burst of laughter and tells Connor not to worry about it, that he's heard worse things plugging guys into their first dicks before. He tells Connor he's a perfect gentleman and a scholar, and that the next part is the last, and it's going to feel weird because it involves shifting around some internal mechanisms.
Connor's eyes go glassy and his mouth hangs open while impersonal mechanical appendages delve beneath his lifted plates to make room inside him for the last major piece of new hardware, something that looks too-much like a high-tech fleshlight. He can't quite recall if he mentioned to Hank exactly what new parts this upgrade entailed beyond a new dick, but there's this, too. A pink puckered asshole too perfect to actually exist, it had to be made in a factory (because it was).
His legs shake a little beneath him when his feet touch the ground again.
Andy-the-Lady, who had apparently been paying more attention than it seemed, saunters over and hands Andy-the-Android a little box, mutters something about Connor's mouth needing a heatsink, and then returns to her table in the back.
From there, Connor gets to keep his feet on the ground for the most part. The plating from the sides of his face gets removed, so a few new pieces of tech can be slotted into his cheeks. He'll be able to salivate a little, Android-Andy explains, and his 'bodily secretions' will all be reasonably slick, safe to consume, water soluble, and flavored faintly like cinnamon, ala the choice selection Connor made while filling out the order.
Cinnamon. He'd almost forgotten about that part. After that, once Connor's plates have all been replaced, they lose some time installing software upgrades and the towering android explains them as they go; Connor's skin layer has been upgraded to accommodate his new hardware, it should now realistically reflect proper blush and bruising. The last step, and one Connor had not expected, was getting that heatsink installed in his tongue.
And it is, by some twist of logic, very much like a barbell struck through his tongue. Because of course it is.
It's just on the cusp of early evening by the time Connor and Hank climbing back into the car. Connor has a hefty information packet in his brain about all the new effects of his installs, and an Andy had made sure to give Hank a paper copy, too. ]
--I'm definitely going to have to order some softer shirts
[ is the first thing Connor says when he climbs into his seat-- a little more carefully than usual. ]
no subject
[Hank catches Connor’s hand in his when he reaches for him. Squeezing as he murmurs:]
I’m here, honey. I’m here.
[It’s unsettling seeing Connor’s body open and pulled apart. The android bits, sure: all the plating and ropes of wiring. But mostly it’s thinking about how this must hurt — and yet it doesn’t seem like it does. Invasive, maybe: Hank wouldn’t want someone prodding at him like that. Can barely have a nurse fussing over him before he’s rolling his eyes.
And then Connor is squeezing the ever living fuck out of his hand, and Hank is almost startled out of his damn chair. Is he hurting? Is he scared? What’s going on? Fuck.
But Connor’s grip softens and then he’s swearing, with that cute as fuck “pardon me,” to boot.
Hank lets himself relax. A little.]
Oh. Huh. [He mumbles this once he realizes what the next part is. Guess Connor really will get to ride his dick into oblivion. Looks... tight.
Hank tries to take it all in stride, as odd as the sights are. Not unpleasant beyond the whole worry thing, just new.
Heatsink? The fuck is a heatsink? Definitely not what it sounds like. Probably. It occurs to Hank that he should have read more about this in advance, because he really has no idea whatever the fuck a heatsink is. It’s for Connor’s mouth, so with all this context, maybe Hank’s dick won’t — almost — make him have to reboot.]
Salivate, huh? [That sounds good. Amazing, even, although their workarounds have been incredibly sexy. Everything is with Connor. But then:] Cinnamon what now?
[Blushing. Bruising. Hank hadn’t expected that, although he hadn’t expected a lot of this. But bruising? Ho-ly shit.
Hank’s going to read his information packet. He is going to read the fuck out of it, and he probably won’t understand ninety-percent of it, but he can ask Connor.]
Hmm. New shirts, huh? Softer shirts?
[He can’t be sure, exactly, but it sounds a lot like Connor’s chest might be a little sensitive. Maybe as much as Hank’s — or more?
Hmm.
As tempted as he is to test all that out — and, god, is he — Hank at least manages to get the doors locked. And the keys are... near the ignition. Hovering. Doesn’t help that Hank is gawking, thinking about starting his car like it’s some sexual thing. Not with the car, just the whole “insert tab ‘A’ into slot ‘B’” thing, and...]
How’re you feeling? Should I drive... slow? Fast? Just shut the fuck up and get us home?
no subject
Something in the digital paperwork Connor had browed beforehand suggested selecting a light flavoring for his new bodily secretions, or they would run the risk of tasting like the inside of his mechanics. There had been a list of options, Connor had selected the only familiar one. ]
Softer [ he agrees with a crisp decisive nod, and then carefully rests his head on the back of the seat. There's so much new sensory data, even just sitting here. Connor could always feel the thirium thrum through him but now it had new paths to take, new corridors to fill, like rooms in a home that never existed before. ]
Hmmm [ He keeps his eyes shut for the moment, trying to sort through the flurry of new feelings. His shirt is coarse on his nipples, the new volume between his legs is easily caught in unpleasant pressure, depending on how he sits. His mouth feels... abnormally warm and cool all at once, and a little moist, around the smooth metal spheres at the top and bottom of his tongue. ] You've been sitting with me for over three hours...
[ He cracks open one eye and peers at Hank with an enamored crooked smile. He seems almost... tired? Maybe overwhelmed... but hazy in infatuated gratitude, too. Glad, for the presence of his partner, in this newfound state of vulnerability. ]
Drive the speed limit, of course. And let's hit a dive through on the way home. You're going to be hungry soon.
no subject
You sound a little, uh. [Can androids even get drunk? High?] Sounding a little woozy there, Con.
[It’s probably good that Connor’s sitting down. Good that he’ll have some time to process all these new changes.
But still. Hank glances over, sees Connor’s head laying back. He mentioned his shirt again, and Hank just imagines it being too much for him to take on the car ride home; tearing his shirt open, and...
It’s ridiculous, of course. But how is he supposed to not think about Connor’s new, and presumably very sensitive, nipples?
And other parts, of course.
Other parts...]
I’d rather get you home before I worry about food, but okay.
[Hank starts the car, letting it rumble to life as he leans over to softly squeeze Connor’s knee.]
You did real good, sweetheart. You did great. Just like I knew you would.
[There has to be some sort of burger place on the way home. Not Chicken Feed — he’d rather not have to get out of the car — but something just as greasy and satisfying.
Pulling into a drive through now, lights all lit up. Menu sign glaring. There are a few cars ahead of them, so it’ll be a couple minutes, at least.
Hank really isn’t hungry yet, although that could be mostly nerves.]
You sure you want me to stop? We can go straight home.
no subject
[ Nothing in it explains why he should suddenly feel Hank calling him 'Sweetheart' in his toes though. What the hell? He didn't get new toes! Oh, but his sensory grid has been completely overhauled so... that's a thing. He's also got optional basic smell and taste perception (off by default) and, as a free add on, advanced body temperature settings? Wait, what? Connor didn't pay for that... and it's 'off', by default. ]
No, please, I'd like you to eat. I'm perfectly capable of exploring my new settings in the car
[ And then, ever the curious cat, he flips on that new temperature perception mode. Then a lot of new things happen all at once. He shivers, his arms twine around his chest, and somehow that makes his nipples harden which sure is a feeling. Connor bites his own tongue to vent the storm of sensations, to anchor them on something, but his teeth clip his new heatsink and slide off the smooth metal because everything is just slightly moist. ]
... C-can you turn on the heat, please? I think... I'm cold
[ Scanning faster through the info on this aspect of his upgrades, now. ]
... Oh, I should also feel realistically cold to the touch, like a chilled human. Here, touch me. Am I cold?
no subject
Worrying me a little now, baby. [Not that Hank wasn’t worried before, but this is something else.] Never thought I’d hear you say you aren’t up for a dozen of those subtasks.
[The cars in front of them start to slowly pull up, so Hank follows along with his Oldsmobile. No getting out of line now unless they ram themselves up over the curb.]
Okay, okay. I’ll eat. [Reaching down to twist the temperature dial up before a breath of heat pours from the vents.] How’s that?
[Connor being cold is a whole other unsettling aspect — news to Hank, too — and he reaches out to cup his cheek. Thumb brushing against chilled skin, which makes Hank feel even worse, like he should have known beforehand and had the heat jacked up already.]
Well, fuck. Guess I should fuckin’ read that packet, huh? Wasn’t expecting you to be all cold. This ain’t a... glitch, or something, is it?
[Once they get to the menu, Hank spits out an order. Kind of hard to think about food now: less because he’s thinking about sex and more because he’s just worried. Stealing glances over at Connor every so often.
Burger. Fries. Soda...? Sure, make it one of those combo meals. Save him a whopping five cents, or whatever. The burger will be good, at least. Probably. Hank can’t remember the last time he had a burger that was truly terrible.]
no subject
[ Connor's temperature and texture perception have been expanded from binary; no longer just zero, or one; sensation, or none. He has a scale, a functional graph with new dimensions he was incapable of perceiving before. The heat from those vents feels so good-- so intricately pleasing against the cold he'd just been feeling.
And so does Hank's hand, chasing the chill out of his cheek with that brief fretting touch. He can't help it, Connor leans in even as Hank retrieves his hand, following that comforting heat for half and inch or so before catching himself in the unfamiliar, new instinct. ]
Uhm... yes, thank you. That's much better.
[ Sitting back in his seat, he crisply corrects his posture, needlessly fixes his tie. He shakes his head as Hank asks about the possibility of a glitch, and finds himself smiling softly while bringing his fingers up to the heating vents. They splay and weave through the heated current of air, the warmth against his (carefully synthetic) cold is so uniquely pleasurable... maybe there's something else to that, another level to explore? ]
I didn't pay for temperature perception or realistic body temperature. That feature only exists on the most recent models of android. Children, specifically. And I could have read further before activating the setting. I didn't. No need to take responsibility for my personal recklessness
[ He goes quiet when they arrive at the speaker, though his lopsided smile won't quite desist. ]
I could turn it off, if I wanted. I don't think I will... I've never felt exactly how warm your hands are before [ if Connor knew the word twitterpated, he might even admit to feeling that. ] You don't need both of them to drive, do you...?
[ Your robot boyfriend wants to hold your hand, Hank. ]
no subject
[It’s cute, the way Connor raises his hand over the vents. Not that Hank didn’t think he was alive before, obviously, but seeing him seek out heat, twirling his fingers like there’s something tangible to grab, is new. It’s endearing.
As if Hank needed any more reasons to love him.]
Huh. Wonder why they added that, then. Don’t think it was an accident.
[Not that Hank personally knows Andy and Andy, but they seemed like professionals. Not the types to make a mistake like that.
A gift, then, maybe? Hmm.]
Look at you. [Gazing at Connor with a smirk twisting the corner of his lips.] Would’ve thought you’d be all “hands on the wheel, Hank.” It’s cute. ‘Course you can...
[Offering his right hand now, letting it rest in Connor’s seat. Made more comical now, perhaps, as Hank pulls up to the second drive through window and fumbles for his wallet. He could take his hand back for a second, but nope. Not gonna do that. It’s Connor’s hand right now.
The person working the window is merciful, at least: only handing Hank one thing at a time, giving him a weird look, like, “you’ve got two hands, don’t you?”
Nope. Not right now, he doesn’t.]
no subject
[ Connor unknowingly mirror's Hank's line of thought, because it sure feels like a gift. And why not, if the temperature sensory upgrade was purely (or mostly) a reworking of old software-- if it didn't cost the Andy's anything, then why not share it with Connor? Why not share it with everyone they could? Clearly, Andy and Andy care a lot less about being sued by Cyberlife than the owner of The Eden Club. ]
Yes, well... I'm trusting your ability to multi-task. You function with hardware like this day to day, after all. You must be accustomed to splitting your focus to some extent
[ Both of Connor's slightly cold hands coil around Hank's to leech off his heat-- and in less than a minute, the android's fingers start to to warm in response to Hank's consistent touch. But it's not just his fingers that are cold, it's his face-- cold just goes everywhere, huh? So Connor takes Hank's hand (for once, oblivious to him trying to get his order through the window) and cradles it against his cheek.
This semi-drunken wooziness isn't something that will last, Connor notes as he continues to scan his manual regarding his new additions; that would be his processing figuring out at what level to comfortably overclock itself. A certain level of mild overclocking is required to run cross-android tech, yes, yes, Connor read that part before, and... oh. ]
... Oh. [ His head tips and he looks mildly perplexed, a small frown folding his mouth as he absently nuzzles against Hank's hand, not too unlike an aloof cat that just discovered affection. ] It looks like... using any installed technology that wasn't originally designed for my model, will eventually compound in the need for a short mandatory shut down period.
So... I'll need to sleep? [ a question, as he checks and re-checks the info on his head. His expression goes strangely delighted, confused, embarrassed-- but he's smiling as he looks at Hank and says ] Apparently, I'll need to find somewhere to sleep. You... wouldn't happen to know a place, would you...?
[ Hank, your robot-boyfriend wants you to invite him to spend the night. ]
no subject
What the hell kind of question is that? I know you’re being coy — [Hank uses the hand that Connor so conveniently placed on his cheek to tilt his face toward him] — but didn’t I tell you “what’s mine is yours,” and all that? Weren’t we talking about making room for your fish?
[Then, a half-hearted mutter:] Guy goes and thinks I’ll make room for his fish but not him.
[He knows Connor’s being a wiseass again, but Hank couldn’t blame him if he were worried. Thinking that maybe Hank hadn’t meant all the things he said, about throwing out all the trash and beer bottles to make room for Connor’s fish. All his things: whatever he has now, and whatever he’ll have in the future.
Him too, obviously. Hank never wanted to just house Connor’s pets, although he would have. He’s always been greedy, though. Always wanting more.]
Remind me when we get home. Got something to give you.
[Food and drink secured. They’re headed home now, pulling out of the drive through and back onto the rain-slickened road, making the snow all mush. It’s steadily growing darker than it’d been at the mall, streetlights glimmering.
Hank likes driving, in a way. Especially when it’s late and there aren’t many cars on the road. Nicer too when he’s with someone he cares about, which isn’t something he ever thought he’d experience again.
He steals a look at Connor during the next stoplight: moonlight spilling through the windows. Hank hopes his hand is helping.]
Guess we’ll get to do some cuddling, huh?
[Thank god.]
no subject
[ Connor really, really is not giving Hank back his hand, nope. When his face feels warm enough (warmer, after that admission to Hank) the android draws those broad fingers down his jaw, and then languidly down the side of his neck. Holy fuck, temperature is a thing. But even though it feels so warm he shivers again, smoothing Hank's palm against the side of his neck. Shivers are... nice, or at least, the kinds of shivers that come from Hank's hands are. ]
It wouldn't happen to be that secret you promised me, would it? Because if not, that will be two things you've got to give me
[ There's a lot going through the android's mind right now, but he still hasn't forgotten that much. Not this time, like how he chose not to press in the shower they shared. Connor figures if ever he has a small license to press for Hank Secrets, it's today. ]
Yes, please. I'd very much like to make sure everything I purchased is in working order... cuddling is a fair place to begin
[ He's not exactly in a rush, but... does temperature really exist like this everywhere? Inquiring minds must know! In fact... ]
Have you ever experimented with any kind of temperature based sensation play, Hank? Such as ice, or wax? I didn't notice anything like that in your browsing history, so I can't quite deduce that far [... dude.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)