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
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. ]
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[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?
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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.
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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.
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[ 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?
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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.]
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[ 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. ]
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[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.]
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[ 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. ]
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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.]
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[ 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.]
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Connor, if you’re trying to get me hard again, it’s fucking working.
[Hank lets Connor move his hand, brushing fingertips against his neck. Feeling every little soft shudder.]
No, this is another thing I’ve got for you. Figured you’d want that secret — [just a couple more turns, a few more stop signs, and they’ll be home] — after you wake up from your nap. Guess it’s your choice when you want to hear it, but I did say I wanna whisper it in your ear.
[Hank is all confidence now, sure, but when the time comes to pay up... he’s not sure he won’t falter. Make a damn fool of himself.
With Connor, Hank is really never sure.]
No, I... haven’t experimented with any of that. Not that I wouldn’t want to. Seems like you’d be into it. [And Hank’s thoughts immediately turn to circling Connor’s nipples with an ice cube — or, hell, his own — which definitely isn’t something he’d say no to.
He wants to make sure he lets Connor know he’s interested, but then he has to address that elephant Connor just dropped in the middle of the car, so to speak.]
My browsing history, huh. [Hank isn’t surprised, really. But he still feels his cheeks heat up at the thought of Connor seeing all of what he gets into.] You find, uh... anything interesting?
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[ He can't be feeling too off his game if he's still not missing a chance to crack-wise like that, sneaking a teasing little smirk to punctuate his statement. ]
Hm... Then I'll let you decide when is best to tell me, just realize I haven't forgotten. 'After my nap' sounds like you're assuming you're going to be able to trigger my new need for sleep though. I haven't even told you the specs yet
[ Now that Connor has a more defined perception of temperature? And nipples? And a fancy heatsink in his tongue? This is definitely something he'd like to experiment with. Oh, is that an elephant? Connor assumed if it was private information, it wouldn't just be available on Hank's computer. Was he not supposed to do some light research? He notices Hank's cheeks flush, and wonders how Hank should manage to feel embarrassed, as though kinks are something humans don't have. ]
Have I embarrassed you? That certainly wasn't my intention. I was just looking for... inspiration. I didn't see anything that surprised me, and I'm definitely the last person who would criticize you for your taste in attraction.
Even though you, on the other hand, continue to question my tastes... [ The last bit is over-serious, and obvious broad-stroke of was warm humor. ] Every chance you get, more or less. [ Laying the teasing on thick while he brushes a kiss across Hank's knuckles. Have they almost arrived? Connor really, really wants to take off his damn shirt. What's with the starchy fabric, Cyberlife? ]
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Just figured we’d get home and you’d be out like a light. Shouldn’t have assumed, I guess. More time for cuddling, maybe.
[Hank tries to hide his neediness with sarcasm, but that’s nothing new.]
Looking for inspiration. Right. [He swallows thickly, glancing down at his drink and wishing he could fill the awkward silences with loud, obnoxious sipping.] Don’t think you need that, really. You’re on a whole other level, babe. Every time you touch me, I swear there’s somethin’ new I wanna try. And I’m not even... adventurous.
[Or is he? Now, maybe?]
Sure, I think about things. Watch a little porn. [A lot.] But I’ve been alone so long, and I wasn’t really wanting to do most of those things in real life.
[Rolling to a halt at the last stop sign before Hank’s house: the one that people driving opposite him always seem to ignore. But it’s quiet now. No one to try to kill him today.]
Till now, I guess. But it’s less wanting to do what I’ve seen in porn, and mostly... I just want to experience whatever I can with you.
[Finally pulling up to the house now, windows dark.]
And, yeah: that’s me. Always shittalking your taste. But that’s ‘cause your tastes include me. For whatever reason.
[Meeting Connor’s sarcasm with his own quip as he shuts off the car. Tugging the keys out of the ignition with his left hand before he’s turning to Connor, maneuvering over the food between them to wrap his hand around that slender neck.
Hank wants to kiss him. He meant to. Needs to give Connor his first kiss after all these upgrades. With all these changes.
But in the house, maybe. Hank can be patient. Sometimes.]
You ready to go in?
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[ Translation: Sleepy Connor is only activated after a decent roll in the hay. Something that not very many people will get to witness, then. Requiring even some level of 'sleep' is a fair trade, he supposes, for the amount of cross-model technology he just installed; he was never designed to be more than an amalgam of a Detective, valuable by his expendability ad much as versatile flexibility. The idea of 'needing' to spend any amount of time in such an unheard of state of vulnerability makes Connor glad for the incredible trust he's already built with Hank.
Connor is a creature who is always aware; there's never even been an option to surrender that awareness. Never-mind reverting to a state where virtually anything could happen to him. The idea could easily feel... dangerous. But it doesn't, not with Hank being the one beside him. ]
I think, at this point, it's more than safe to call yourself at least mildly adventurous
[ He's teasing Hank again, apparently it's part of the android's love language. It's very difficult for him to grasp why Hank should be embarrassed here, and Connor wonders if his partner would be curious to know, at least according to the research the android had done, Hank actually watches less porn, on average, than the average human male in his age range. Connor can't quite deduce why but, depression do be like that sometimes. ]
I understand; they were peripheral observations. I will always defer more heavily to our experiences together [ See, look. He's perfectly capable of stringing slick words together, even while he can feel cold, and fabric on his nipples, and moisture in his mouth. Multi-tasking king, right here.
He thinks to inform Hank, gently ribbing, that attraction to older men seems far too commonplace for him to actually seriously judge Connor's preferences but, suddenly there is a hand on the back of his neck and Connor thinks maybe, Hank might kiss him. The thought knocks everything else out of his mind, demanding top priority of his focus like a spoiled prima donna. For a second he just feels his thirium pump pulsate, the forever-hurrying of his thoughts numbed with a not-quite-electric-shock of thrill.
His eyes go hazy, his cheeks (and lips) flush ever so slightly, his pupils swell. And he has to wait a whole three seconds for the language processing part of his brain to push through his crowded CPU. Hank said actual words, just there. ]
Uhm [ Okay, that was technically English, good, the correct language settings are still active. ] Yes. Inside. The House. Of course. Before your food gets cold and-- wait. I know it's impatient but-- kiss me first? [ and then, because there was more demand measured into that statement than he meant for, he adds a prettily apologetic: ]
Please?
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That sounds... [Hank frowns.] I’m happy to get to lay with you whenever, but I guess I assumed it’d be a one-time calibration thing, or whatever. I know you don’t like to be all idle, so... I’m sorry.
[He hadn’t considered that. Just like he hadn’t considered a lot of things, apparently. Really should have read up on more of this beforehand, but most of it would’ve flown right over his head.]
Only adventurous with you. Ain’t no mild about you.
[Tilting Connor’s chin up with his hand now. Looking down into those dark eyes, and he just seems... different. Maybe it’s that sweet little “please.” Hank would’ve kissed him, anyway. But it still feels nice, makes something in Hank’s chest squeeze.]
You’re fine. Just figured you might want to head inside before you get me all riled up again. Guess you don’t, so —
[He isn’t trying to be a nuisance. Really. Isn’t trying to tease the way Connor tends to. Hank’s just thinking. Brushing over Connor’s lips with his thumb, pondering the food he is oh-so precariously leaning over: only one of these he really cares about.
Hank isn’t sure how to keep this kiss chaste, but he’ll damn well make the attempt. Pressing his mouth against Connor’s; tilting his head to mesh their lips together — and, hey, no tongue. Hank is being good. His fingers slide up and down Connor’s neck: slow, just to feel him.
He could pull away, could ask if Connor’s had his fill. The car’s off and Hank doesn’t want him getting colder. If Connor’s gonna tremble, he wants it to be for another reason entirely.]
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And he wants to call Hank a charmer, a flatterer, maybe run his fingers down Hank's jaw to press his point by grazing his touch through his beard. And Connor wants to politely protest, say he isn't trying to rile Hank up at all, but that balmy thumb sweeping across his lower lip (and all the accompanying, cascading physical reactions) take up every last digit of his attention.
When he blinks (not quite in sync) his eyes stick shut an extra half second, and the tip of his tongue peeks out (a new instinct, Connor notes) to trace behind Hank's thumb and leave the slightest suggestion of moisture on his skin; Connor never could wet his lips for a kiss, before.
Hank is being very good, but the chaste-enough press of his lips and the warmth of his hand coasting down Connor's neck is sufficient to draw up a very quiet, temulent moan from deep inside the android's chest. His lips now feel easily as sensitive as his tongue had been, which seems... delightfully excessive. Connor gives a blissful sigh against Hank's mouth and drags his lips up, like a tender brush-stroke, while perceiving brand new dimensions of friction and warmth through the slow, drawn out motion. ]
...Wow. [ Did he just hear himself moan (quietly!) and say 'wow'? Connor sits up very straight; the blush feels familiar, but his skin-layer can now tweak the hue, make it all delicately rosy. ] Temperature perception sure is... intense.
[ Experimentally, he touches his own lips and he can feel (far less acutely than a human, but still) that his skin is warm, just like Hank's. ]
Incredible [ He murmurs, all quiet awe. The wind outside rattles the trees and something about the sound snaps Connor out of his little spell, and has him twisting the door-handle and climbing from the car. He seems to fumble whatever wise-ass comment he had when the wind keeps howling, flaring the sides of his suit jacket. Cold. Cold is... sharp, intense, tight, numbing? It makes him shiver, in a different way than Hank does, and Connor's arms coil around his chest by some newly triggered instinct. ]
I can't believe the cold is supposed to make your nipples react this way. Feels like a glitch, not a feature
[ Teasing still, even as she shivers, and strides towards Hank's front door with a newly developed sense of urgency. How does he want to warm up and take off his shirt? The urges are nonsensical! ]
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[Hank can feel it against his lips when Connor moans. And he can’t blame him, especially not with all these fancy upgrades, but damn.
Connor’s being good, too. Better than Hank could ever be. All patient and soft and processing.]
You keep talking about your nipples, Connor, and I swear to god my hands are gonna start doing things.
[Things.
He wants to wrap his arms around him, protect him from the cold, but Connor’s at the front door quick enough. Hank sighs: see, this is why...
One thing at a time. First: digging his half-frozen keys out of his pocket. Once he opens the door, Hank sees Sumo pause mid-step right by his food bowl as if he’d been up to something naughty. Ready to gnaw on a bowl as if that could summon more kibble, maybe. Then he’s heading right toward them, not quite fast but not slow, either, and once Hank’s inside — the boring one — Sumo sits in front of Connor and starts thumping his tail against the floor.]
Guess he’s your drool monster now.
[Hank is... looking. For the thing he means to give Connor. The two things, technically. He hasn’t needed them in an age so has no idea where they are, really. Digging through the couch cushions: no. One he finds by his computer, for whatever reason; the other in a random knickknacks-slash-garbage drawer in the kitchen.]
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[ Connor's shivering does not dissuade him from parrying that delightful tease, though. Like yes, okay, he understands the cold perception on these things is VERY aware of itself. He'd like to feel what Not Cold nipples are like now, thank you. ]
Hello, Sumo! How is your evening going? Did you get any of that reading finished?
[ Connor drops down on one knee (a small wince, a slight shift in stance, and correcting his pants below the belt with a brief adjusting tug) and welcomes Sumo over for some pets behind the ears. 'Do you hear that? Partial custody! Now you really are going to have to get your homework done on time. What's that, you don't like Descartes? I suppose The Ghost in The Machine is a bit advanced for you...'
Connor loses a minute or so to the drool monster before the cold air around the door is sufficient enough to have him relocate to the living-room. Sumo follows behind him, an odd little hop in his stompy steps as his plume of a tail makes a creamy blur of itself. Sumo, it turns out, is also very warm, so Connor especially appreciates when the massive puppo absconds the couch next to him and drops his head in his lap.
'You just love me in the absence of food,' it's one of those times when the words Connor uses are not 'I love you', but the tone is very, very close. He's also keeping an eye on what Hank is doing, fussing around looking for... whatever he has to give Connor? ]
Do you need help finding something? I can probably tell you where everything is in here, I've taken several extensive scans since my first visit
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I figured as much, especially with your whole... browser history thing. But nah, I’m good. Maybe next time.
[The kitchen drawer gets stuck a bit, crammed full of junk, so Hank has to really slam it shut.
He heads back to the couch, giving Sumo a nice scratch behind the ears — although he looks, decidedly, bored by Hank’s attention. Drooling in Connor’s lap is much more riveting, apparently, although he does offer Hank a loud yawn.
Reaching for one of Connor’s hands now, Hank unfurls his fingers before pressing a kiss to his palm.
Then: two keys. Sumo raises his head, expecting some manner of treat, but after a few sniffs he lays back in Connor’s lap.]
One with the fob’s for the car. Figured since I was giving you the other key, anyway. In case of emergencies and all that — don’t need you breaking my car window, or whatever. Just let me know if you’re actually gonna take her for a spin, so I can get one of those weird self-driving cars.
[Those very cabs that are suddenly enjoyable if they have Connor in them, and if Connor is kissing him and tugging Hank’s hair.
Funny how that works.]
Then, yeah: house key. Since that keeps coming up. Where you’re gonna stay and keep all your things. And obviously you don’t gotta stay here — [please stay] — but don’t go cleaning up after me if you do. That’s my burden. Don’t know where we’re gonna put your fish, but we’ll figure it out.
[We.
A glance around the living room: it’s not exactly small, but that was just with him and Sumo. It’d be nice to have more space for Connor.]
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They are just keys, but they seem so very pretty and special, the kinds of things humans fashion jewelry out of, the kinds of things they hang from their walls and windows to catch the light. He allows the ring on which the keys are set to slide down his finger, resting the little metal carvings against his palm. He touches them carefully with his thumb, noting the coolness of the metal at ends with the heat from Hank's hand.
Connor can still manage some rather robotic behavior and views, but he doesn't miss the significance here, he understands that these gifts represent the freedom to come and go (to leave, and what's more, stay) at his own behest. It's a huge amount of trust to give someone, and Connor isn't exactly surprised, but somehow, he feels the pump in his chest skitter, double-quick, for two pulsations. Not fear but thrill, not apprehension but jubilation. Connor almost forgets entirely about how starchy and uncomfortable his shirt is. ]
Thank you Hank, truly. I believe I properly understand the gravity of this gesture. And I really would love to stay here with you [ 'Borf!' ] -and Sumo, and perhaps an angel fish, of some kind. I promise not to break anymore of our windows unless it is extremely necessary
[ He sways forward, still a little punch-drunk on his new senses, and rests his forehead against Hank's stomach while wrapping a loose arm around his waist. ]
Are we... what's the proper slang of your era? Going Steady? Paramours? Boyfriends? Are we... 'Officially' a couple? Am a reading this re-classification correctly? My head still feels sort of... fuzzy, but not in a bad way
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And I trust you not to break any more windows unless it’s “extremely necessary,” so I guess we’re on the same page here.
[Then Connor has to go and shove his face against Hank’s stomach, and it’s not as if he’s keeping score, but this... this is endearing as fuck.]
Who the hell says “paramours”? You think that’s a term of my era? Oh, that’s rich. [Hank touches Connor’s head, fingers sifting through his hair, patting him in soft strokes.] But yeah, Connor. We can make it all official, if you want. Figured we were already there, but — okay.
[It feels oddly juvenile, especially with Hank being fifty-three, but:] Will you... be my boyfriend, Connor?
[Is that how he’s supposed to ask? It’s been so damn long since Hank has wanted to date anyone.]
My very sexy boyfriend who can come and go as he pleases, and...
[Hank sighs, craning his neck to see as much of Connor as he can. Sumo is sitting up now, looking up at them, head cocked. Perhaps confused why Connor would choose to hug Hank over being the optimal pillow.]
It’s nice. Getting to make you feel like this. I hope I can keep doing this for a long time, Connor.
[Which is Hank’s way of saying: Hope I don’t fuck this up. Hope you keep wanting to be with me.]
D’you... need to change your shirt, though? [Don’t mention Connor’s nipples, Hank. Don’t even think about nipples.
But of course he does.]
One of mine might be better, or...
[Hopefully...?]
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[ Hank is being terribly sweet with his proposition and Connor starts to catch the persistent urge to kiss him again, but--
At the mention of his shirt Connor makes an irritated little huff (his perception of the discomfort returning twice as loud) and sinks back into the couch, promptly and ruthlessly removing his tie like it offended him and tossing heedlessly over the arm-rest. A second later he's plucking open the buttons and pulling loose the fabric of his dress-shirt, and sighing in mostly appeased comfort as the weird prickling sensation ebbs off his new hardware. With his re-worked skin layer online, the grey silicone sculpts are colored exactly life-like, flushed in obvious irritated over-sensitivity. ]
I don't own anything that isn't made of starch, apparently. No wonder the Tracis all wear such minimal, tight-fitted clothing
[ The android releases the tension from his posture, melts a little into the couch, while more languidly plucking open the petals of his shirt. ]
I'm sorry, it was my understanding that shirts are not a strict requirement of this establishment [ His expression is overly prim, too much starch on purpose, like his damn shirt. His lips have just a little more color than usual as he slides his new boyfriend a sweet, imploring, faintly impish smile. ] Was I incorrect?
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Was explicit, sure. Just wanted to make doubly sure so neither of us gets jumpscared when the other says “boyfriend,” or something. Jumpscared in a good way, I’d hope, but still.
[Hank watches Connor toss his tie away like it’s his very own personal striptease. He tries not to widen his eyes, but he stares. Unblinking. Heart racing faster with each button unfastened.]
Connor, what did I tell you about the whole nipple thing? [It was about talking, yes, but is this not a million times “worse,” albeit in a deeply erotic way? Connor just baring himself for Hank to see, all smooth, freckled skin — especially sensitive too, now, isn’t he?] You’re lucky Sumo’s here to get us to behave.
[Not that Sumo’s presence stopped them before, but now he’s on the couch. Being all cute and slobbering.
Hank leans down to tilt Connor’s head up. Thumb pressed against his chin as he just stares into those deep eyes for a moment, at that face he adores, before he kisses him. A chaste kiss: lips brushing. Trying to keep his beard from digging into Connor’s skin for too long; he imagines that might be uncomfortable right now. Or maybe it feels amazing, with all that new sensitivity. Hank doesn’t know.
Still, he pulls back before long. Grabbing his food from the coffee table — magic! — before squeezing onto the other end of the couch. Sumo whines between them, turning to nose at Hank’s bag. Tail thwapping Connor’s lap.]
No, shirts not required. In fact, I’d suggest you never wear one. Ever. Would be better for your — [don’t say nipples, don’t say nipples] — skin, huh? No friction. All that good stuff.
[Hank bites into a fry. Sitting up to be able to see Connor over Sumo. Giving Connor a look. Expression blank and yet anything but, really: he knows Connor can figure out his heart’s still racing, and all that.]
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[ Connor is never unaware of Hank's heartbeat, let's be real. Detectives and Stalkers sure have similar specs. He relaxes back into the couch with a very gratified, slow-burning smile, one hand languidly petting Sumo's head while the other continues to peel away his shirt, tantalizing quarter-inches at a time. ]
I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving us some space if need be. Though, he's probably hoping for burger crumbs.
[ Connor's smile goes slightly crooked as Hank tips up his chin; be looks utterly bewitched, familiar enamored expression enhanced with subtle new details. But he doesn't just look different, he feels different, and his perception has amazing new levels to explore. Maybe it shouldn't keep surprising him, the way kissing Hank feels now, the way he can shiver down to his toes. But it's like a brand new discovery every time.
Look either Hank or Connor carried in that food, the kiss was just so good they forgot about it until just now; dead pool
or Kuzcothe replay, it's all there.It takes Connor a few seconds to blink the enchanted glitter out of his eyes and catch up with what Hank is saying to him; those kisses now create so much sensory data they overflow his ability to compute them; a buzz very worth chasing but also mildly inconvenient. He feels... silly? Embarrassed? But not in an unpleasant way? ]
You say that, but you were just complaining about what a distraction I am. How are you going to cope if I'm completely shirtless? You're not exactly a paragon of self control [ The last bit reads like a playful insult but sounds much more like a purring complement as Connor say it, because he actually quite adores being a subject of such eager desire. Teasing Hank is just... fun? Definitely Fun and... other feelings. Comfortable. Familiar. Risky? That last one is... new and enticing.
But obviously, removing his jacket shouldn't be considered a tease, right? Ignoring, of course, that he never actually does it. But he's got a key, ergo he's allowed to keep his stuff here, and his jacket is his stuff. The math checks out.
So Connor sits up and shrugs off his grey Cyberlife blazer, slow more for caution than teasing, and lays it neatly across the armrest next to his tie. Some stray behavioral coding has him roll up his sleeves and it's hard to say if he's trying to get comfortable, or testing what turns Hank's crank.
Just because he's not looking directly at his new boyfriend does not mean he's not listening to his heart race. ]
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